


What We Could Have Been

by claro



Series: What we could have been [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Discussion of Abortion, John is an ASS, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy, fuck you john watson, no happy endings for john, not at all canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-01
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-08-12 09:32:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 129
Words: 101,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7929634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claro/pseuds/claro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one night stand has left John and Sherlock with more than they bargained for. John doesn't want a baby and Sherlock assures the doctor that he will take care of it....except, this is Sherlock we're talking about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The police in our town have a brand new helicopter which they have been playing with all night, every night for days now, so I've had NO sleep and am basically running on coffee and Proplus. So when I rewatched the preview for season 4 I lost my shit altogether. I think that we, as a fandom, have been pretty understanding when it comes to John's poor lifestyle choices - we forgave him for Mary, and we forgave that mustache, and those shoes and breaking Sherlock's nose. But that hair is a step too far. So fuck you John Watson - I'm so over your shit and THIS is the result. Life lessons - bad hair ruins lives.

It had been over a month since John had seen Sherlock, so when the man called him requesting help on a case, John had leapt at the chance. He would never dream of admitting it, but he missed his best friend and he missed seeing him every day. Life with Mary was nice, but sometimes he wished there would be an explosion in the middle of the night, or a random madman chasing them.

Sherlock was already to leave and halfway down the stairs when John arrived.

'Were you going to leave without me?'

'You were taking too long.'

'Sherlock, I was literally two streets away.'

Sherlock rolled his eye, 'Are you ready now?'

'Give me a minute, I need to use the bathroom first.' John pushed past Sherlock with a laugh, half expecting Sherlock to have left before he came back. He was still laughing when he closed the bathroom door. 

But he stopped laughing immediately.

The little white and blue box was all he could look at for a moment, and then he stepped closer and lifted it, finding only one test still inside. He took a deep breath before he looked down at the bin under the sink, and his heart sank.

When he opened the door Sherlock was standing in the middle of the living room instead of the stairs where John had left him. He was biting his lip nervously, poised for flight. John took a step towards him.

'You're pregnant.'

Sherlock didn't respond, he just glanced down at the carpet, and then around the room in what John had come to know as his nervous, and sometimes guilty gesture.

'Sherlock! Look at me.'

'Why?'

John clenched his fist to tamp down the flare of anger, and took a deep breath before he spoke, 'You know why. Who-'

'Don't be so stupid, John. You know who.' Sherlock snapped, suddenly angry.

'I don't exactly make a habit of one night stands. That's ancient history. I don't do that any more.'

'The fact that I am currently carrying your offspring would suggest otherwise.'

The reality was really starting to sink in now, and John scrambled for something that would prove it wasn't happening.

'But that was  _once._ And it was months ago before...oh god.'

'Before you got married and impregnated your wife.'

John sank down in the chair and covered his face with his hands, 'Mary...'

'Hmm.'

'That's all you have to say?'

'What would you like me to say?'

'I dunno...that it's a mistake, that the test is wrong.'

'This is the seventh day in a row I've checked. You should always replicate your experiments to-'

'This isn't a fucking experiment Sherlock! This is my  _life!'_

He was on his feet again, pacing the room, gesticulating wildly as Sherlock just watched him in silence.

'I don't want...I can't Sherlock. I don't want this. I don't want it. One mistake isn't going to ruin my life.'

Sherlock flinched slightly away from John, his eyes narrowed as they took in John, the expression on his face unreadable, as if he was trying to work something out. As if he had no idea who this strange person in his flat was. Then he nodded, just one sharp nod.

'I'll take care of it.' And then he turned away for the stairs again.

'Oh hell no! You don't get to walk off that easily!' John was reaching for his elbow, but Sherlock pulled away and kept walking, 'Sherlock!'

But Sherlock was already running down the stairs, 'Case, John.'

'Sherlock! John struggled to keep up with him, 'We need to talk about this.'

'I said I'll take care of it!' and Sherlock stepped out into the street, hand already raised to hail a cab.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was practically dancing around the body, eyes wide with excitement, hands gesticulating wildly. John could barely bring himself to look at the other man, wondering how he could be so...normal after his earlier revelation. Eventually the fact that John was standing to one side, arms crossed, frowning and silent drew attention.

';You and the freak had a bit of a lover's tiff then?' Donovan sneered and was surprised when John rounded on her, eyes blazing and mouth open to start yelling. 

It was only Lestrade's hand grabbing his elbow and pulling him away that stopped John from doing something he would regret.

'Look,' Lestrade pointed at him, 'I don't care who pissed in your cornflakes, but you don't bring that to my crime scene!'

John stared at him and for a second there was something close to sympathy in Lestrade's eyes, and John wondered if Lestrade knew more than he was letting on. But then Sherlock shouted something about mud and and needed a blood sample and Lestrade let go of John, rolled his eyes and went back to work with a sigh.

That was the last time John visited a crime scene.

 

#

 

It had been once. Just once.

John closed his eyes and leaned his head against the cold glass of the bus window.

A bomb, a sniper, a mad rooftop dash across London in the rain. They'd crashed through the door of 221B laughing and clinging onto each other for support. And then it was lips and teeth and clothes shed on the floor until John was thrusting into Sherlock, knees burning against the movement on the rug, hands gripping slender hips so hard they bruised.

He'd barely had time to register what had happened, still lost in his post orgasmic haze when his clothes were thrown at him and Sherlock had retreated to his own room, the slam of the door loud in the small flat.

They hand't spoken about it since.

 

#

 

He couldn't tell Mary.

The shock would...she was pregnant and he couldn't, wouldn't risk anything happening to her. Not after they worked so hard to fix things. It had been weeks, just weeks, since Sherlock....oh god, Sherlock....had forced them to sort their differences. 

John closed his eyes as the realisation dawned on him.

Sherlock had been pregnant when Mary shot him.

But that didn't matter. It wasn't a baby. It wasn't anything at all.

Sherlock was going to take care of it.


	3. Chapter 3

Lestrade frowned at Sherlock, who was so pale he was almost grey, and unsteady on his feet as he moved around the glass office. Lestrade sighed, he'd seen Sherlock like this before, and he'd finally started to believe that he wouldn't see him like this again.

'What did you take?' he said, standing up.

Sherlock didn't stop pacing, he just flicked a hand in Lestrade's direction and kept on his unsteady path.

'I didn't take anything.'

'Oh, really?' Lestrade already had his keys in his hand and was checking his pockets for his mobile, 'Come on.'

'What? Where?'

'To the hospital.'

Sherlock sighed theatrically, 'I've just come from the hospital.'

'Well, I'm taking you back. You look like shit,' Lestrade waited for Sherlock to protest, but it seemed like the man had retreated into his mind again, and his body was just carrying on under it's own momentum. Lestrade put a hand out to catch Sherlock and steady him. Which was fortunate because that was the moment Sherlock's body finally gave up and he fainted.

#

Lestrade was sitting by Sherlock's bedside, watching the other man sleep. It had taken some doing, but Sherlock had eventually filled him in on what happened, and Greg had just nodded.

'I'll have to tell Mycroft.'

'You don't have to.'

'I do.'

Sherlock had narrowed his strange eyes at him, pouting like a child, 'I thought you were supposed to be on my side.'

'I am, but Mycroft's my-' he stopped, not really knowing what Mycroft was to be honest. And it wasn't the time to start questioning that either, not with doctors fussing over Sherlock, who was so dehydrated they were shocked he was still conscious.

By the time Mycroft arrived Sherlock had drifted into a fitful sleep, sweat soaked hair sticking to his forehead, his nails were absently scratching at his left arm, the one that wasn't attached to an IV.

'Gregory?' Mycroft's eyes were wide as he took in the tableau before him.

'He'll be okay. He's on his second bag. He had one with like...salts?' Greg shrugged helplessly.

'Sodium, yes.'

'Yeah, well, this ones got dextrose in it to try and raise his blood sugar. Stupid bastard hasn't eaten anything in days.'

They both knew this wasn't unusual for Sherlock, but after today...even Mycroft sighed.

'He hasn't taken anything,' Greg assured him before Mycroft could ask, 'Although if the state of his arm is anything to go by he wants to.'

Mycroft nodded, 'It's become his automatic reaction to stress. Sherlock does not cope well with emotional situations.'

'Yeah well, I had them check. I wasn't about to just take his word for it. I'm not making that mistake again.'

A pale hand rested on Greg's shoulder and he glanced up at Mycroft who looked so very vulnerable at that moment.

'Thank you, Gregory.'

#

Through the course of the night Sherlock drifted in and out of sleep. Sometimes it was the fresh, cool rush of fluid in his veins when his IV bag was changed, sometimes it was the too warm touch of a nurses hand as they checked his temperature and oxygen levels, and sometimes it was the low murmur of words between Lestrade and Mycroft.

Sherlock never opened his eyes though, instead he turned his back to them and feigned sleep until it came again, for once grateful for the chance to lose himself in the darkness so he wouldn't have to think about what he'd done that morning.


	4. Chapter 4

John had been able to think about nothing except Sherlock for days. He thought about going around to the flat, but that seemed to personal right now. He'd exchanged a few texts with Sherlock, nothing of any real consequence, just...checking up on the other man without being too obvious. Sherlock had been his usual acerbic self in response, which John took as a good sign. Since the crime scene he'd only seen Sherlock once, very briefly as the detective stepped out of a cab at Barts, but he was too far away to hear or see John, and by the time John reached the morgue Sherlock had already left again.

He knew he should leave Sherlock alone for a while, and if were anyone else he would have. But Sherlock should never be left alone when there was emotion involved. Assuming of course that there was any emotion involved. Sherlock had kept very quiet until John found out, and then he'd refused to speak to John about it at all, instead just bounding off to a crime scene like nothing had happened. And John was angry at that Sherlock had just carried on as normal while John hadn't been able to think about anything else.

But then, since the minute the man had walked into his life, John had thought about him almost constantly.

'What are you thinking about?' Mary asked, rummaging through her bag.

'Sherlock,' John said automatically.

'Well, don't forget to remind him about tonight.'

Ah. Tonight. It had been John's idea to have a dinner.It was supposed to be a celebration, a chance to tell all of their friends their news.

'I can't wait to tell everyone,' Mary flashed a wide smile at him that made John feel sick to his stomach.

He waited until she was gone before he picked up his mobile to text Sherlock again.

#

The phone beeped. Sherlock sighed. John again.

_Where are you? John._

He knew what John wanted. This stupid dinner where he would expect Sherlock to be on his best behaviour, to be nice to people who didn't deserve it, to eat food he didn't want and to have to listen to John tell everyone how happy and proud he was while Mary smugly stoked her stomach and basked in the attention. Sherlock closed his eyes, his grip on the phone so tight his knuckles were white, and took depp breaths until he was calm enough to respond.

_Busy - SH_

He put the phone back on the beside unit and rolled over, turning his back on it and on John.

#

John didn't get a chance to call Sherlock again until his lunch break and was surprised when Lestrade answered.

'Where's Sherlock? Is he alright?'

There was a pause and then Lestrade spoke again, 'He's a bit busy right now.'

'But he's not hurt or anything?' John had known Sherlock long enough to worry.

'He's...fine.'

Lestrade's tone wasn't doing anything to settle John's nerves though, but it was clear that he wasn't going to get much more out of him.

'Look, I was just trying to get hold of him about tonight, you know? To make sure he remembered.'

'Yeah, I think he remembered. But look, I think, with everything it was a bit insensitive to expect him to-'

'Insensitive?'

'Listen, he told me about...you know.'

'He did?' John barely managed to speak, that nauseous feeling rising again.

'Yeah. It's not my place to say anything, it's between the two of you, but I think asking him to yours and Mary's pregnancy announcement dinner is bang out of order.'

John swallowed as he took in the disappointment in Lestrade's voice, as if John had failed to meet his expectations.

'I didn't mean-'

'I know,' Lestrade cut him off, 'Look, I think, given the circumstances, it would be better to leave him alone for a while. It was a big decision and he just needs some time to adjust.'

There was an unspoken question hanging in the air, and John couldn't bring himself to ask it. Eventually Lestrade seemed to take pity on him.

'He's not using.'

'You sure?'

'Yeah. Positive.'

John paused, 'And are you still coming later?'

'Best not, mate.' and then before John could say anything else, 'I'd better go. But I'm sure he'll text you when he's ready.'

And then there was jut silence as Lestrade cut the call.

#

Lestrade rubbed his hands over his face as he looked at Sherlock's back.

'I know you're awake,' he said, and then sighed, 'You can't ignore John forever.'

'Yes I can.'

'You going to ignore your parents when they get here too?'

Sherlock's shoulders tensed, 'You called Mummy?'

'Nope, Mycroft did.'

Sherlock made a sound that might have been a snarl, but he still didn't roll over and after a while Lestrade started to think that the detective had fallen back asleep.

'Lestrade?'

'Hmm?'

'If my parents are coming down I need you to remove a certain...item from my flat.'

'You mean the massive bag of heroin you left on your kitchen table? Mrs Hudson already called Mycroft about that,' Lestrade leaned over so he was closer to Sherlock, 'And as soon as you are back on your feet, me and you are going to have a little chat about that.'

#

When John had the crime scene that day he'd found out, Sherlock had taken the long way home, stopping to visit some old...friends. He'd gone back to the flat, poured a large drink and retrieved his kit from it's hiding place in the vent in the kitchen. And then he'd sat down and stared at it.

He'd bought far more than he'd bought before. Enough to...well, enough. So much that his contact had been nervous about selling it to him.

For three months he'd forced down the memories of that night, not allowing himself to think about it until he was confronted with the reality of seven identical results and then John. Sherlock hadn't even fully had time to process how he felt about it all before John found out. He'd planned on three more tests before he considered his options. But John was right, seven tests weren't wrong. He'd been very clear about what he thought about it too.

And so tomorrow Sherlock would call to make the necessary appointments, But tonight all he wanted was the oblivion that tiny bag could bring him. And...and maybe he wouldn't need to make that appointment in the end.

He leaned on his elbows looking down at the full glass of scotch and the fresh hypodermic as he thought about not thinking, about never having to think about anything ever again.

He was still staring at them when the sun came up the next morning. And the decision was made.


	5. Chapter 5

Sherlock went back to work. It took some arguing and eventually a word from Mycroft to persuade Lestrade to allow him back on a crime scene, but eventually the DI gave in, although he kept a closer eye on Sherlock than before. John did not come back with him, although Lestrade had heard from Molly that John and Sherlock occasionally visited Bart's together over the following months, with Sherlock seeking John's advice on some particularly difficult cases. But even Molly had commented on how things seemed a bit strained between them. Lestrade had brushed it off, assuring her that it was just their friendship changing now that John was married and had other priorities. Although Lestrade had to admit that John being around Sherlock after everything that had happened made him uncomfortable.

Every once in a while he met up with the doctor for a pint and a chat, partly because John had been a good friend, and partly because Mycroft had subtly hinted that it was better for Lestrade to keep an eye on things than Mycroft. Lestrade had to admit he had a point there, which was why he was sitting across the table from John Watson, already on their third pint in half an hour and quickly running out of things to talk about that weren't Sherlock or Mary and the baby.

'I didn't think he would speak to me again,' John admitted in a rare show of emotion, 'I was a bit of a dick to him over it.'

Lestrade chose not to say anything.

'But then,' John went on, looking confused, 'He just texts me one day and asks me to look at a gunshot wound on a body like nothing had happened.'

Lestrade remembered that day quite clearly. Mycroft had been very angry with Sherlock and Lestrade had spent the next week acting as a go between for the two brothers.

'And so that's what he does now,' John was saying, 'He calls or he texts when he wants something. I go, because I always bloody go, and then he disappears again for days or weeks without a word.'

'He's always been like that though,' Lestrade pointed out.

'Yeah, but who knows what he's doing when he does one of his vanishing acts.'

'Well...Mycroft does.'

At that John laughed, 'Of course he does. I forgot that wanker ruled the world.'

'Oi!' Lestrade lifted a finger in warning.

'I forgot. Still...Mycroft? Really? That's the best you can do?'

Lestrade clenched his jaw and reminded himself that it wasn't a good idea for a police officer to chin someone because they insulted their...whatever Mycroft was. There was nothing John could say that he hadn't already heard come out of Sherlock's mouth, but at least with Sherlock it was always creative. He'd just expected a bit more from the doctor.

'Have you been back to Baker Street?' Lestrade asked, because he'd promised Mycroft he would.

John shook his head, 'Didn't really seem like a good idea after everything. He won't talk about it, you know.' John blurted out, 'I've tried asking him, but he just clams up or takes off.That's not healthy, he should talk about it.'

'He's talked about it a bit,' Lestrade admitted, not wanting John to make an issue out of it, but also not wanting to betray Sherlock, 'But surely you can understand why he doesn't want to talk to you about it. I mean, that's a bit awkward, mate.'

John just nodded. There was nothing else to say.

#

'He is a heartless bastard!' John threw the glass against the wall of his living room as Lestrade advanced slowly towards him.

'John I think you should sit down.'

'Do you know what he said when I called him to tell him what happened?' John screwed up his face into an angry snarl, 'He said he was busy and he hung up!'

Lestrade did know that actually, because he had been standing beside Sherlock when John had called to tell him the baby had died. Exactly why John thought it was a good idea to call looking sympathy from Sherlock about anything, but especially about that was a complete mystery. Still, shock and grief made people do things they normally wouldn't.

Like fucking their best friend, a treacherous little voice in the back of his head said.

'I think maybe you've had enough,' Lestrade said diplomatically as John took a long swig from the bottle, 'Maybe some tea?'

'And how the fuck do you think tea is going to help?' John shouted.

It wasn't. They both knew that.

#

Sherlock hung up and stood completely still for several seconds, not even breathing, and then he put his phone in his pocket and pulled his huge coat closer around himself, his movements horribly mechanical.

'Sherlock?' Lestrade was worried, he'd been close enough to hear what John had been saying, and he watched Sherlock carefully.

However Sherlock didn't respond, he just walked off, slower than normal, but still with the same purposeful stride he always had. Lestrade watched him go before calling Mycroft.

It was almost a month before Sherlock went back to work again, and three before he and John spoke again.

Lestrade went to the funeral because someone had to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very very short chapter today. Sorry.

There was something up with Mycroft. Greg had, over the two years or so they had been together, learned to tell the difference between work related problems and personal ones. And since he was certain that Sherlock was fine, then the problem must have something to do with him. And Greg had a sneaking feeling that he knew what it was about.

'Listen, if you've changed your mind then it's okay,' he said over dinner when he finally couldn't take the strained silences any more.

Mycroft frowned, 'I'm afraid I don't understand.'

'If,' Greg took a sip of his drink and avoided looking at Mycroft, 'If you've changed your mind. About me moving in.'

There was a flash of fear in response, but then Mycroft nodded, his mask slipping back into place.

'Rest assured, Gregory, I understand fully and would never dream of making you do something you didn't want to.'

'Hang on? What?'

Now it was Mycroft's turn to look uncomfortable.

'You think I don't want to move in?' Greg pressed before Mycroft had a chance to speak.

'You've made no progress on the matter, and when I asked you didn't give an answer so I assumed-'

'It's a bit hard to say anything when I have your cock in my mouth!' Greg laughed loudly enough to attract the attention of some nearby customers, and Mycroft turned pink.

'I thought you had changed your mind.'

'I thought you'd changed yours,' Greg shot back.

He was still smiling when they finally crashed through the front door to  _their_ house two hours later, already pulling at each other's clothes.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay - just wrapped on the play I've been directing and then started back at college and it's been crazy.

He felt bad about it before he even reached the front gate, but John just couldn't stand the atmosphere in the house for one more moment. Deep down he knew Mary was struggling with what happened to their baby, but her grief had, over the last nine months, turned to an obsession. It was all she talked about now, all their fought about. And John had found himself just wanting to be out of the house and away from here so he didn't have to deal with the emotions it dragged up.

In truth he wasn't even sure he wanted to try for another baby. Maybe if things weren't so difficult between them he would feel differently about it. In desperation he'd suggested counselling, which had gone down about as well as he had expected, but he'd been so desperate that he was willing to try anything by that point.

Today, though, the shouting had started before they were even finished breakfast and John had stormed out before he said something he would regret. When his phone rang he was relieved that it was Greg's name that appeared on the screen.

'Is Sherlock with you?'

'No. I'm meeting him later though. Why? Is everything okay?'

'Been trying to get him all morning. Got a case for him but he's not answering. You know what he's like.'

'He's probably ignoring you,' John said, and they both knew that was a distinct possibility, 'Look, I'm not far away, I'll nip over and check he's still alive, get him to call you.'

'No! I mean, I don't think that's a good-'

'It's no bother. I'll get him to call you.'

'John-'

But John had already hung up and was headed for the tube station.

#

It had been almost a year since he had last climbed the stairs to 221B and it felt strange and unfamiliar. The door of the flat was, as always, open, but John did something he'd never done before. He knocked.

'Kitchen,' Sherlock's voice came, and shrugging, John pushed the door open and stepped in.

There was a series of soft popping sounds from the kitchen and then a laugh and a clap, and John frowned wondering what Sherlock was up to.

The popping sound came again as John entered the kitchen and he was met with a plume of pink smoke and that same clapping sound.

'What in God's name are you doing?' he asked, waving a hand to clear his vision. And it as then that he heard the laughing sound again, a sound he knew from his shifts in the clinic, 'Did you kidnap a baby?' he laughed.

But there was a sudden movement and Sherlock was in front of John, crowding him away from the table.

'You shouldn't be here.'

'Greg's been trying to get you, you weren't answering.' John replied weakly, angling his head to look around Sherlock for the source of the laughter, 'Sherlock, what's going on.'

'You have to leave,' Sherlock was pale, his jaw set and his eyes cold and hard. It was only the creases of his face that betrayed his fear.

John suddenly felt like someone had kicked his legs out from beneath him, and he stared up at his best friend, the cold in his chest squeezing the air out of him, 'Sherlock?'

'Leave,' Sherlock repeated.

'Sherlock...' John's voice was a strangled whisper, his mind already counting the months, thinking back of the detectives long absences, changes in his behaviour, 'Where did you get a baby?'

Sherlock's expression didn't change as he spoke, 'The usual way.'

It wasn't an admission, but it was a confirmation, and through the shock, hurt and anger were fighting to see which would come out first.

'That's....you had....you were supposed to take care of it,' it was just a breath at first, and the anger won and John glared up at the other man, 'That's what you said. You said you would take care of it!'

'I do take care of him!'

John hadn't been expecting the roar that ripped through the flat and caused him to stumble backwards. In the split second it took John to regain his balance, Sherlock had whirled around and scooped the now tearful baby from it's highchair, holding it close, arms wrapped around it as if caging it away from John. John just stared and stared, unable to say anything as he took in the fiercely protective Sherlock and tiny, blue eyed baby clinging, wet cheeked to him.

'Leave,' Sherlock repeated.

'No.'

'This is my flat.'

'That is my child!'

'He's mine!'

John shook his head, 'This..how did you even manage to hide....this is a new low, Sherlock. Even for you.'

'Get out.'

'You should have-'

'OUT!' Sherlock roared, and at the same moment there was a wail of sirens outside and the flash of red and blue.

John froze in place even as he heard the footsteps on the stairs.

His eyes were still locked on Sherlock's even as Greg Lestrade steered him away.

'Come on,' Lestrade said as he held John's arm, pushing him towards the police car he'd arrived in, 'We need to have a little chat.'


	8. Chapter 8

Mycroft arrived just minutes after Lestrade had taken John away. Sherlock had tried to keep his composure enough to calm his frightened son, but, although he would never admit it, he was relieved when his brother came through the door, flanked by dark suited men carrying black suitcases. Mycroft took one look at his brother and gently lifted his nephew out of his shaking hands before heading back down the street.

Anthea was giving instructions to several junior staff outside the door, and Mycroft nodded to her once as they passed. But he waited until they were safely inside the car before speaking to his brother.

'I warned you about this.'

Sherlock didn't say anything as they drove through the city.

#

If you don't sit I'm going to have to put you in a cell until you calm down.'

John stopped moving, pausing at the door to look at the man he thought was his friend. The man who hadn't once asked him why he was upset. The man who wasn't at all surprised or confused.

'You knew,' John said, and then laughed, 'What am I saying, of course you knew!' his voice was rising again but he didn't do anything to stop it, 'Did everyone know? Was it all some big laugh behind my back? Huh?'

'John,' Lestrade warned.

'No! Don't you dare sit there and try to sound reasonable. How the hell did he even manage to hide that?'

'He wasn't that big,' Lestrade said, the frankness in his tone shocking John into silence, 'And it was hard to tell under that bloody coat,' Lestrade sighed, 'It wasn't like was flaunting it or anything.'

There was a silence then as John fought for control and Lestrade simply watched him, trying to work out what to say.

'Why didn't you tell me?'

'It wasn't up to me, John.'

'You're supposed to be my friend!'

'Which is why I didn't tell you. Look,' Lestrade held up his hands, 'Who knows why Sherlock does the things he does. But if he didn't want you to know then there was a reason. You had Mary and a baby of your own on the way and...and I know what you said to him, when you found out he was pregnant.'

'He wasn't supposed to have it.'

Lestrade flinched at those words, 'You were his best friend...his only friend most of the time. When he decided to do this, I don't think he wanted to - no, hear me out,' Lestrade spoke over John's attempt to interrupt him, 'I don't think he wanted to hurt you.'

'And he didn't think I'd be hurt when I found out what he'd done? That he'd lied to me again? It's always about Sherlock. He never stops to think about anyone else except himself!'

Lestrade watched as John lashed out, kicking the chair across the room and his heart clenched for the doctor.

'Maybe just wanted to have your baby.'

'Well he wasn't supposed to!' John roared, 'How long was he going to keep that secret? The rest of our lives? Did he think I wasn't going to notice eventually? Or was he going to do another disappearing trick like last time?'

'He's been talking about Sussex,' Lestrade admitted.

'Sussex?'

Lestrade shrugged, 'I don't get it either. But for once he's not just thinking about himself,' Lestrade pressed his lips together as he thought, and then decided to just be honest, 'He's really good at this, John.'

'Good? At lying? I know,' John sneered.

'At being a parent,' Lestrade said quietly.

'How when he can't even look after himself?'

'He's stayed clean, he's been careful about work. There's no experiments in the flat now. Well...no toxic ones at least. He does it all himself too. He wouldn't take help from anyone. He went to all of his appointments on his own. He even gave birth on his own. We didn't even know he'd had the baby until Mrs Hudson called his mum to congratulate her,' Lestrade pulled a face, 'There was a bit of shouting about that.'

'Are you seriously trying to win me over by telling me he's a good dad?'

'I'm trying to tell you...' Lestrade sighed again and tried a different approach, ' When Mary was...'

'Pregnant? You can say the word,' John said, his voice hard and cold.

'Pregnant. Did you hold her hand at scans? Keep her hair back when she was sick? Did you cook for her when she was too tired or ill to cook for herself? Did you reassure her when she felt bad about her appearance?'

Lestrade watched John carefully, but John didn't speak.

'Sherlock didn't have anyone to do those things for him. He went into that knowing that was the case. He made his decision knowing that he'd never have anyone to rely on or to look after him again. He kept the baby a secret from you because he didn't want to hurt you. But I honestly think he only kept him because he was yours.'

'He was supposed to get rid of it!' John shouted.

Lestrade finally lost patience, 'Stop saying 'it'! He has a bloody name!'

The force of Lestrade's shout silenced John and echoed through the small room for several long minutes until John swallowed and nodded at the policeman.

'And what is it?' he asked, his voice uncertain and quiet, 'It's.. _his..._ name?'

'Hamish.'

 


	9. Chapter 9

It was almost two am when Mycroft walked in on his brother.  
'He's sleeping,' Sherlock said, not taking his eyes off the cot in the corner.  
'I was checking on you,' Mycroft's voice was low, almost soft in the darkness, and for a second Sherlock was taken back to childhood. To a time when Mycroft was his guardian, his protector.  
'I'm fine.'  
Mycroft smiled, not the smug self satisfied smile he turned on his colleagues, but the honest, soft smile he shared with so few people.  
'I know.'  
Neither brother spoke for a long moment. Sherlock watched as his brother walked around the room, took in his expression as he looked into the cot at the sleeping baby.  
'He looks like John.'  
Sherlock rocked backwards on his heels. In the months since Hamish was born all he had heard was how similar they looked. And as Hamish grew, Sherlock could see that. They had the same black curls, the same pale eyes. But...but there was that slight turn up in his nose, that set in his mouth when he was unhappy, that stare as if...as if he was disappointed.  
'Sherlock,....it's time.'  
'No. Not yet.'  
'Sherlock-'  
'He'll take him away.'  
'I won't let that happen.'  
'You can't stop it.'  
'I can.'  
The brothers stared at each other in silence until Sherlock dropped his head and sighed.  
'Promise?'  
Mycroft bit his lip, taking in his younger brother.  
'I promise.'

#

'How is he?'  
Mycroft looked up at Lestrade who was shrugging off his coat.  
'Tired.'  
Lestrade nodded, just once, then stepped over and placed a kiss on the politician's temple.  
'Dr Watson?'  
Lestrade sighed, 'Shock. I think.' he met Mycroft's gaze, 'Still, it's out now...'  
'Yes.'  
Lestrade took in the profile of his partner as he tried to frame his next words, 'I don't know what John's going to do next.'  
'Pardon?'  
'I don't know what he's gonna do, Myc,' Lestrade shook his head, 'I mean, we knew this was going to happen, and to be honest I'm sort of relieved now, but...he's in pieces. And I don't know what he's gonna tell Mary. Or what he's gonna do-'  
'Do?'  
'You know the law,' Lestrade refused to meet Mycroft's stare, ' He can challenge Sherlock for custody.'  
'He'll never-'  
'Myc! You can't control everything.'  
'But he's...'  
'I know.'  
Lestrade rested his head against Mycroft''s shoulder.  
'I don't want to admit it any more than you do. But he can, and I think he will. Especially when Mary get get's involved.'  
'She's not going to want Sherlock's child.'  
'No, but she might want John's.'  
The couple lapsed into silence. Mycroft turned to him.  
'I'm sorry.'  
'It's not your fault, Myc.'  
'But-'  
'It's not your fault. It;s not anyone's one's fault.'


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry for he short chapters

Red hair. Blue eyes.

He was perfect.

Too small. Too young. Not ready yet.

Mycroft said nothing.

Greg said the necessary.

Five months. Six days. One funeral. 

They didn't try again.


	11. Chapter 11

'Sherlock!'

'Mummy!'

There was a beat of silence as they took in each other.

'Mycroft!'

#

Greg rolled over and prodded his partner, 'They know.'

#

'You called Mummy.' Sherlock eyed his brother across the table.

'Yes.'

'And you didn't think to tell me?'

'Are you asking if I thought about securing your permission before inviting my own mother to stay in my house then-'

'That's enough!' Violet Holmes snapped, and then smiled softly, hands already reaching out towards her grandson, 'Time for a cuddle.'

Even now Sherlock struggled to hand his son over to his own mother. It had taken months for him to be able to release him to Mycroft. His mother simply waved her fingers until Sherlock handed over the baby, and then she immediately swept into a wave of infantile chatter that left her two sons staring at each other across the breakfast table.

'Morning,' Greg Lestrade, fully dressed and ready for the day, crossed the kitchen to the coffee pot.

'No caffeine,' Sherlock said.

'Why?'

'Pregnant.'

The silence in the room was broken only by Hamish's happy humming.

'You're-'

'We'll talk about it later.'

'Gregory!'

'Myc, please!'

There was silence until the door slammed behind Greg, and then Mycroft looked across the the table to his brother.

'He's really...'

'Yes.'

'Oh.'

 


	12. Chapter 12

'More tea, dear?'

The pretty brunette glanced down at the elderly woman who was smiling broadly at her.

'I really shouldn't.'

'There's still a couple of slices of that courgette and almond cake...'

Anthea tried to hide her smile, but was unsuccessful as Mrs Hudson linked an arm through hers and steered her back downstairs.

#

'Gregory?'

'I'm working, Myc.'

'I know, i just wanted-'

 'Unless this is important then can we leave it until- what are you doing?'

Mycroft was on his knees, head bowed, fists clenched.

'Myc?'

'Marry me.'

'What?'

'Marry me.'

Greg lowered himself to his knees, 'Myc, you don't have to-'

'I know!' Mycroft shouted, and then softer, 'I...I want to.'

'What?'

'I want to marry you.'

Greg sighed, 'Mycroft....'

The small box pressed into his hand took him by surprise.

'Myc...'

'I've been trying to ask you for a long time.' Mycroft bowed his head, 'I was waiting for the perfect moment. But-'

'Mycroft!'

'It's all perfect.'

'What?'

Mycroft opened his eyes, 'It's perfect...you...are perfect. And...and I want this.'

'I was going to tell you.'

'I know.'

'I just didn't want you to think...it wasn't intentional. I know we agreed that we wound't try again and-'

'I want it.'

Greg stared in silence at teh redhead, 'What?'

'I want it. I want you. Both of you.' He nodded to the box that was still in Greg's hand, 'Please.'

 

Greg opened the box, 'It's black,'

'It's a meteorite.'

Greg stared at the ring, the black stones almost too bright.

'Since the beginning of time it's been travelling,' Mycroft said, 'Millions of years. Hundreds of millions of miles until it got here.'

'Myc...' Greg leaned forward and rested his forehead against Mycroft's.

'It's what my life was before you. I've waited my whole life for you.'

'Say it again.'

Mycroft pulled back and blinked, 'I love you.'

'Say it.'

'Marry me.'

Greg smiled, 'Okay.'


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And here's where we start to find out what's been happening to Sherlock since Hamish was born.....

Sherlock was still at Mycroft's house when Mycroft and Greg arrived home. Their mother was still there too and smiled broadly as them as Mycroft insisted on helping Greg with his coat. She clearly wanted to talk about the morning's revelation, and Sherlock was smiling smugly clearly pleased that he would not be subjected to any more questions about John.

'I see congratulations are in order.'

Mycroft pursed his lips but Greg just sighed, 'You're a little bastard, do you know that?'

'My mother is standing right here and would contest that.'

Violet shook her head, 'I bought you in John Lewis, darling, you know that.'

Then she turned back to resume her interrogation, but was cut off by the arrival of Anthea, who was leading a tall man behind her. He went straight to Sherlock, his face contorted in worry.

'Alright, Bill?' Greg nodded.

'What's going on? Your flat is swarming with people.'

'There was a minor...incident last night.'

The new arrival looked from one to the other until Greg took pity on him.

'John turned up at the flat.'

'Shit! Are you okay?' he asked Sherlock, who was doing a good job of maintaining his neutral expression, 'Why are all those people there?'

'Some of my team are taking precautions to ensure it does not happen again.'

'So he knows now? About Hamish?'

Sherlock nodded again, but didn't say anything.

''I'm trying to convince him to come home for a few days.'

'Baker Street is my home.'

'You can always stay here. No, don't look at me like that, Mycroft,' Greg cut his partner off and it was then the new arrival took stock of the still slightly stunned look on the couples faces and he smirked.

'So he told you then?' Bill asked.

'Sherlock announced it over breakfast.'

'Thanks for that by the way!' Greg couldn't contain his smile though, 'So you knew too?'

'I am a midwife.'

There was no comeback to that so Greg let it go, but took in the matching smug smiles the newcomer shared with Sherlock.

'I was wondering who you were,' Violet chose that moment to take control of the conversation again.

'Sorry, Bill,' he held out his hand, 'A friend of Sherlock's.'

Violet looked quite surprised by this, 'Well he's certainly massing quite a collection of you now.'

'This is my mother,' Sherlock sad without grace.

'I had gathered that you rude man. Speaking of rude men, I believe I can hear the siren call of our leader. I'll grab him, you get your things together and we'll get you both back to mine.'

'No. I'm going back to Baker Street. I will not be forced out of my own home.'

Bill nodded, 'Alright. But I'm coming with you.'

There was a look of panic on Sherlock's face that was only noticeable to those who knew him best, and it told both Mycroft and Greg a lot about the speed with which that relationship was progressing. Or not progressing as the case might be.

'I'll sleep on the sofa,' Bill said as he disappeared from the room.

Violet watched him go, 'And who  _exactly_ is 'Bill'?' she demanded, 'Sherlock?'

Mycroft rather enjoyed the way his brother squirmed, 'Well, mother. That is a very interesting story.'

'Which you can tell when we have left,' Sherlock said, tying his scarf around his neck, 'I see no reason why I should be subjected to your inane questions.'

'And here's Daddy kicking off again, Hamish,' Bill returned with the baby in his arms, 'Wonder what Uncle Mycroft said this time. Time for us to leave before punches get thrown.'

'And so we can tell Violet everything,' Greg grinned.

Bill pulled a face, 'Fuck you too, Uncle Greg.' He was still laughing as he followed an angry Sherlock out the door.

Mycroft sighed under his mother's sudden and intense stare, 'Perhaps some tea. It's a rather long story.'

 

#

 

'I want medication!'

The redheaded midwife who was forcibly holding Sherlock down shook his head, 'Well you just punched out the anaesthetist. So tough shit, no epidural for you.'

'You're enjoying this,' Sherlock snarled at him, causing an alarmed look from a student midwife who was hovering in a corner, unsure if she should flee or not.

'Yup. Highlight of my day.'

'Drugs!'

'I'm working on it!'

'Give me my phone, I can have a dealer here in ten minutes.'

'Yeah, because that sounds like a great idea.'

'You said the gas was a great idea too!'

'And you still haven't apologised for throwing up on me.'

'You should have moved.'

'I don't usually have people throw up on me when I'm checking how dilated they are.'

The shouts in the room were getting louder as the two men battled though Sherlock's contractions and every so often another member of staff would appear at the door to check on things, but thankfully Sherlock had run out of things to throw, which was a relief as even in pain he had impressive aim with a cardboard pan of vomit.

'What sort of a name is 'Bill' anyway.'

'Short for William,' he took pleasure in saying as Sherlock groaned.

'The lack of imagination in the previous generation is startling.'

'Thanks for that,  _William._ I'll be sure to pass on my regards to my mother. And yours. Although where she pulled Sherlock from I can't even guess.'

'It was the seventies.'

'Lot of drugs then?'

'You should hear what she called my brothers,' the detective said with a smirk that only intrigued the midwife more.

He'd been worried when Sherlock checked himself in earlier that evening, completely alone, and upfront about a previous addiction. The way some of the other staff scattered when they caught sight of him was, in hindsight, also a clue about what was coming next. Usually people who came in alone were scared, but Sherlock had seemed reasonably calm and slightly arrogant, at the start at least. Watching him punch Higgins square in the face was a bonus that was worth hanging about after his shift to see.

'If you promise to stay where you are, I'll get you something.'

'Morphine.'

'Hell no.'

'Heroin.'

'You can have two paracetamol if you keep this up.'

'You can't keep me here. What are you going to do? Handcuff me to the bed?'

'Wouldn't be the first time I've worked with someone labouring in that very scenario.'

'Rest assured I would not remain handcuffed for long, to a bed or otherwise.'

'And that sounds like an interesting story which you can tell me another time. Perhaps when you can walk again.'

'You are cruel man and this is brutality!'

'This is labour, sunshine. But I'm not the one about to push a baby out, so I'm pretty sure I can outrun.'

'Bastard.'

'I've been called worse. By you, in fact. Although if you think I'm a 'cack-handed chronic underachiever with pseudo sadistic tendencies' then you really better hope you don't need stitches.'

'Are you even qualified for this job?'

'I'm not telling. But I'm the one with the drugs, so be fucking nice.'

'Do you talk to all your patients like this?'

'No, you're getting special treatment.'

There was a timid knock at the door and middle aged woman with a wary expression looked around.

'Just handling the staff changes and then I'll take over.'

She disappeared just as fast and the midwife smiled down at Sherlock slightly manically, 'Did you hear that? A whole  _new_ group of people you can make cry.'

'You're going to leave me like this?'

There was something in the man's face that gave the midwife paused, 'Not if you don't want me to. Nothing on telly tonight anyway,' he debated with himself for a second before asking again, 'Is there anyone you want here? A friend or a partner?'

Sherlock shook his head, 'No.'

'A family member?'

'My brother's partner just lost a baby. I don't think he would appreciate being here for this delightful experience.'

'Yeah. Probably a bit emotional that one. The father?'

'Not interested,' Sherlock gritted his teeth, 'Do you always ask such personal questions?'

'I'm currently looking at your vagina, so I think we've moved past personal, don't you. Still, you'd think he might want to be here, most father's do, even if they don't really intend on sticking around.'

'He's not aware that I'm pregnant.'

'Haven't seen him for a while?'

'I had lunch with him yesterday.'

The midwife blew out a disbelieving breath, 'And he didn't notice? Is he blind?'

'He's a doctor.'

The absurdity of that statement got an unexpected laugh out of Sherlock, who relaxed a little, much to the midwife's relief.

'Alright,' he said straightening up, 'I reckon we're in business now.'

'You've been saying that for the last six hours!'

'After this I'll buy you breakfast to make up for being the only person in this hospital who is willing to sit in this room with you right now. I don't think they will let you back again.'

'If you think I'm doing this again then you are very much mistaken!'

'Do you know how many times a day I hear that? Just think of how lovely those pastries will be in another hour.'

Sherlock stared at him with wide eyes, 'Do you ask out everyone who's in labour?'

'Nah, but I figured I'd give it a go,' the midwife watched Sherlock take in his appearance, sweat soaked uniform still bearing a lingering scent of vomit and he laughed again, 'And this isn't even the worst first date I've ever had.'

'I'd believe that.'

 


	14. Chapter 14

He had only been away for one night, but already the flat felt colder. Bill went straight through to the kitchen to make tea, pausing before he opened the fridge.

'Is there anything in here I should be warned about?'

Sherlock mentally ran through the contents of the shelves.

'You might want to avoid the red box.'

'Why? Oh shit. Well that's me off sausages for life!'

'They aren't sausages?'

'I should fucking hope not.'

There was the sound of the fridge door closing and then the clatter of cups.

'Don't throw those out!'

'Through them out? I'm going to wait until you are asleep and then I'm going to burn them.'

'You will face the wrath of Mrs Hudson.'

'Not when I tell her what else is in here.'

Bill carried through the mugs and rested Sherlock's at his elbow, before stroking a hand down the side of his face and then moving to sit in the other chair while Sherlock fed Hamish.

'How are you feeling?'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

'Okay,' Bill blew on his tea, 'What do you want to talk about?'

Sherlock rearranged Hamish to a slightly more comfortable position. Not once had he caught Bill staring at him while he was nursing, and Sherlock supposed that came with the job.

'Sherlock,' he'd said once, 'I have seen a whole  _person_ come out of you. I have been covered in your vomit and blood. I stitched up your vagina again, remember?'

'Thank you for not stitching a smiley face into it,' Sherlock had said, because Bill had threatened to.

And six months later Bill was still here, and Sherlock was still struggling to work out why. So he asked him.

'Because I don't think you should be alone here tonight.'

'That wasn't what I meant.'

'I know it wasn't, I was ignoring the question.'

Sherlock continued to stare at him until Bill gave in.

'This might surprise you, but I do actually like you. A lot. In fact I have been falling very much in love with you since we first met and you tried to kick me in the face. Which took some effort for someone who was in active labour. And speaking on that, I'm very fond of our very own ninja in training, and I know he comes first, and I know you were hurt, and it's all complicated and I know you don't do the whole emotional thing. But I'm pretty sure you like me too because you haven't asked me to leave yet. And you know I'm not a terrorist, a serial killer or some sort of pervert because I know that your brother doesn't really work for the public accounts committee and YOU know that if there was anything to find he would have dug it up and I wouldn't be allowed within sixty miles of you. And so I'm sitting here because I think you are brilliant and amazing and gorgeous, and eventually I think, I hope, that you'll find something in me that you want to keep around.'

All this was delivered calmly, Bill watching Sherlock over the top of his mug as he leaned back in the chair looking as if he belonged there, and he just let Sherlock process what he'd just been told knowing that he might never get a response, which is why he laughed in surprise when Sherlock nodded seriously and spoke.

'You make very nice roast potatoes.'

Later, when Sherlock took Hamish to bed, Bill doubled checked all the doors and windows before settling under his blanket with his phone. There was a text from Greg.

_\- Everything okay?_

_\- Told him I loved him and now I'm sleeping on the sofa. B_

There was a pause before his phone beeped in reply.

- _Harsh._

He wasn't expecting there to be another text come through a few seconds later.

- _You text very loudly. SH_

_-I'm plotting with you brother in law about the best way to smother you in your sleep. B_

_-Which would necessitate you being in the room. SH_

_-It'll happen. B_

_-Mycroft said to tell you it would be easier to drown him. :)_

_-That smiley face was a bit sinister. B_

After that the texts stopped, and Bill lay in the dark, happy in the knowledge that Sherlock knew he was there.

 

#

 

Bill was woken by a weight on his chest and his first instinct was to fight it off, but there was a familiar shampoo and the tickle of curls pressed against his neck and he sighed.

'I think I just shat myself, Sherlock.'

He struggled to sit up only to be stopped by Sherlock kissing him. It was rare that Sherlock initiated affection, and after the day they'd had, Bill was wary.

'What's wrong?'

Sherlock pressed his forehead against Bill's.

'I don't know what I'm doing.'

The meaning behind Sherlock's words was clear to Bill and he nodded, holding Sherlock gently.

'It's okay.'

 

#

 

'Someone is in good spirits,' Mycroft's voice drifted in from the living room and Bill pulled a face at Hamish who was constructing a cow pat of pureed pears and blueberries. Every so often he absently wiped Hamish's face clean, 'I didn't realise weaning would be so...messy.'

'Ah don't worry, I'll hose him down out the back later on.'

Sherlock glared at his brother from where he was drinking his own tea and reading the newspaper he had shamelessly stolen from Mrs Husdon's letter box.

'What do you want Mycroft?'

'Nothing. Gregory had an early start and wanted to drop some files off to you first.'

'Finally!' Sherlock was on his feet and out to meet Greg who offered the box of files.

'And if I can have them back without mashed carrots on them this time.'

'It wasn't carrots.'

'I. Don't. Want. To. Know.' Greg assured him, but Sherlock was already flipping through the pages, his eyes narrowed as he took in some of the information.

'There's a serial killer in here!'

'Well you've been a good boy lately.'

'Really? I must be slipping.'

There was a groan from the kitchen and then Bill's voice.

'Sherlock our child had made you a present.'

'Is this similar to the present he made me yesterday?'

'Nope. I think this one is sort of....green.' Bill appeared holding Hamish at arms length and offered him to Sherlock, 'Jesus. It's running down his leg! Christ I think he exploded!'

Sherlock set the box of files down and reached for his son with a sigh. It had to be said that Hamish looked remarkably pleased with himself.

'I thought we agreed we weren't giving him avocado ever again!' Bill backed away from the child like he might go off again, Sherlock shook his head and took Hamish towards the bathroom.

'Tea?' Bill turned to the other two men.

'Someone is in a good mood this morning.'

Bill grinned at Greg, 'Sexy time.'

'For crying out loud. Must you?' Mycroft shook his head, but as Bill went back to the kitchen he exchanged a look with Greg. Neither of them had missed 'our.'

 

#

 

In the bathroom Sherlock hadn't missed it either. He'd never thought Hamish would ever be anyone's 'our' he had always, both before and since birth, thought of him as exclusively 'his' and even now, as he stripped off the smiling baby to examine Hamish's handiwork, a protective voice in the back of his head was still protesting 'mine!'

But that was something to think about later. There was a serial killer to find.

 

 

 


	15. Chapter 15

John tried to walk to the bedroom but was stopped by a firm hand on his arm.

'I asked where you were!'

He sighed.

'Some things came up.'

'A case?'

'Sort of.'

'Sort of? What do you mean by sort of?'

'I mean sort of!' John shouted, and Mary let go, backing away a step, her eyes narrowing as she took in his appearance. He was still wearing the same clothes he had left the house in two days before. Unshaven, disheveled, distant look in his eye that she remembered from early in their relationship, 'Sorry.'

'You were with Sherlock then?'

Her voice was full of a false relief that John, for the first time in their marriage, was able to see through. He looked at the blond woman standing in front of him and realised that he was seeing her, he was seeing  _everything_ in his life for the very first time.

And he didn't like what he saw.

'What?'

'I asked if you saw Sherlock.'

John blinked, 'Only for a couple of minutes.'

He hated the way she relaxed at that, and he wondered if she had always been so suspicious. Even though she has a right to be, a voice in his head added. John turned away before Mary could see that in his eyes.

'So what have you been doing?'

And there it was again, that same, sparkly, interested brightness. Except now he could hear the brittle tones of doubt and jealousy in it, and he wondered for the most fleeting of seconds if this was how Mary had always sounded to Sherlock. Sherlock who saw everything, who heard everything. Sherlock who hadn't been clouded by lust and anger and a million other emotions which had built up to one bad decision after another.

He was a coward. He'd never thought of himself as a coward before. He'd reveled in the thrill of war and the chase and the Game, and he'd always prided himself in facing up to whatever challenge crossed his path. But...he hadn't, had he? He'd run away to war because he was scared of taking a consultant surgeon position. He'd followed Sherlock all over London safe in the knowledge that the entirety of the MET and the whole of the British Government were on their side. He'd taken a safe, respectable GP job when he could have had his pick of positions. 

Sherlock had once told John that he was addicted to danger, addicted to a certain kind of lifestyle. Only one of those statements was correct, and for the first time John could see that. 

He had told himself over and over in the past year that he was with Mary because he loved her. He had enjoyed the thought that she was dangerous, because that made him dangerous too.

Except...it didn't. All it made him was afraid. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of losing everything. Afraid of Sherlock. Afraid of Mary.

So he'd stayed in the small world he had constructed for himself, that Mary had constructed for him, and he'd allowed her to make it smaller and smaller and smaller until there was nothing except her and him and their baby. And then...then Sherlock!  And suddenly his life had been Sherlock again, but only for as long as it took for John to shut him out, state his thoughts and then to shut them out, never to be dwelt on again. 

And maybe that's how life was with Mary, safe in his little bubble of non-thought.

But with Sherlock....when he had walked into that room and laid eyes on that baby everything had burst into colour again. The whole world was once again unpredictable, fractured, sharp and bright and...alive.

He had forgotten that heart pounding uncertainty. The fear. The loss of control and the excitement that brought.

He had thought he'd felt that all through his life. But now, standing in the doorway, his wife at his side, thinking about his best friend, John realised that he had only every felt when he was alone with Sherlock.

Not when they were tearing through the streets, dodging bullets and serial killers, or when an experiement went wrong and the flat was on fire, or a hostage situation, when he was in the desert looking at the enemy just yards away, or when he was wrist deep in blood in the chest cavity of a friend, in a dirty makeshift hospital tent, or that moment when the bullet he took sent him reeling backwards into the sand.

No. The moments he had really felt  _alive_ were the moments late in the evening when he had a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other and he would glance up, catch Sherlock's eye and share that joint smile. That moment of understanding that had never needed words.

_This is our world._

'John?'

Mary's grating voice cut across his thoughts and he turned back to her.

'I have to tell you something.'


	16. Chapter 16

Greg smirked at his partner outside the door to 221. Mycroft sighed and made a great show of reaching for his wallet.

'Say it,' Greg leaned in, still smiling.

'No.'

Greg pouted which made Mycroft roll his eyes, 'Fine, you were right and I was wrong.'

'Thank you,' Greg gave Mycroft a swift kiss, plucking the fifty pound note from Mycroft's long fingers, 'Although I'm a bit surprised myself to be honest.'

'You could try harder to show it,' Mycroft tried to look disapproving, but in truth he enjoyed seeing Greg in this sort of triumphant mood, and that it was based on his brother's happiness was just a bonus.

'At least I didn't expect him to become some born again virgin like you did.'

'That wasn't quite how I put it. I simply expressed concern that Sherlock might struggle with the more physical aspects of a relationship.'

'From the grin on Bill's face it didn't look like it had been much of a struggle.'

'I meant that Sherlock's previous sexual encounters have not necessarily been based on any sort of emotional attachment. With the exception of Dr Watson, perhaps, and look how that turned out. You cannot blame me for believing that Sherlock might find it difficult to engage in such activities in the future.'

'Speaking of John...'

Mycroft's expression was pained, 'Must we?'

'I think we need to, love.'

The car pulled up and Mycroft waved aside the driver, reaching to open the door himself for Greg, 'I shall discuss it with Sherlock first and take my cue from him regarding future actions.'

Greg paused, one hand on the roof of the car, 'That nearly killed you to say that, didn't it?'

Mycroft jutted out his chin and refused to acknowledge his partner as the car pulled away.

 

#

 

Greg's morning passed quietly for once. Donnovan was on-again with Anderson and so she was in a good mood and had volunteered to do the bakery run, which meant Greg was in a good mood. He had signed off on three cases, liaised with his team over the court case for another one and set up a press conference to talk about the department's latest figures and was halfway through his second donoughnut when the door to his office opened.

'Piss off,' he mumbled.

'Bad time?'

'John!'

Greg swung his feet off the desk but the doctor was already backing out, 'I'll come back...'

'No,' Greg swallowed the mouthful he had been chewing and waved towards the empty chair opposite him, 'No, it's fine. Was going to call you later actually.'

'Oh? Case?' there was something about the detached way John was speaking that made Greg realise that perhaps John wasn't fully functioning at the moment. He waited until John sat down before he spoke.

'So...?'

'What? Oh, yeah,' John seemed to pull himself together a little, but only a little, 'Sorry. I shouldn't have come here. I just-'

'It's fine.'

John shook his head, 'No, it's not.'

And Greg didn't need John to tell him anymore because he could guess from the doctors' expression, 'You told Mary.'

'I had to.'

'And she didn't take it well?'

John shook his head, 'She went all quiet and locked herself in the bathroom.'

Greg ran a hand through this hair. He hadn't been counting on John telling Mary everything so soon, especially when he probably hadn't even had time to get his own head around it all. Even so, there was a question he HAD to ask.

'Is she going to do something stupid?'

'I don't think so.'

'John, I mean this in the nicest possible way, but the last time Mary thought Sherlock was a threat she shot him. What is she going to do now?'

'Nothing!' John shouted, but then his expression flickered, 'I don't know.'

He dropped his head and for a second there was silence. Greg didn't know what to do. Part of him wanted to comfort John but another part of him wanted to shake John.

'I think maybe you -'

'Sir, there's been a shooting in Chalk Farm.' Donovan leaned through the doorway, completely ignoring John.

'Alright,' Greg was on his feet before she had even finished. He glanced down at John and sighed, 'Sorry, I have...I have to go.'

'It's fine,' John said quietly as Greg took off out of the door, 'It's all fine.'

 

 


	17. Chapter 17

Greg laughed as Mycroft's hand crept under his t shirt again.

'Go to sleep, Myc.'

'I want to see again.'

'There's nothing  _to_ see. Not yet.'

That didn't stop Mycroft's intense examination. He'd been mildly put out when Greg admitted he'd known for several weeks, but had forgiven Greg when the policeman agreed to Mycroft's rather obsessive concept of medical care.

'This is why I didn't tell you,' Greg said, 'I needed to get my head round it first before you started sending me for daily check ups.'

'Daily is a tad excessive, Gregory,' Mycroft tried to frown by couldn't quite manage it.

'And I didn't exactly want everyone to know just in case...well.'

That silenced both of them, and Greg had a painful flashback to the look on Mycroft's face at the funeral. He never wanted to see that expression again.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' he asked, hating himself for even questioning it.

Mycroft nodded, 'Yes.'

'This means you'll be stuck with me.'

'Good.'

Greg smiled and lapsed into silence as he watched Mycroft.

 

#

 

In Baker Street Sherlock was propped up in bed, listening to the breathing of Hamish in his cot and thinking about the events of the previous night. Contrary to what his brother might think, sex had never frightened Sherlock. There had been many occassions in the past when he had quite enjoyed it as a way of spending an evening. Even so, he had surprised himself when he had gone to Bill in the middle of the night. Bill who had been considerate and gentle and let Sherlock dictate the pace. Bill who hadn't ever pushed for more than Sherlock was willing to give. Bill who stated his feelings very plainly. Feelings that Sherlock was still processing.

He liked Bill, although he wasn't about to admit that just yet. But more importantly, Hamish liked Bill, and right now that the most important thing.

And Bill had said 'our.'

That was...unexpected. And...nice.

Sherlock closed his eyes. This definitely required more thought.


	18. Chapter 18

Bill did not call Sherlock for the next two days. That wasn't necessarily out of character as the midwife often didn't call if he was working, but he wasn't responding to text messages either, and with every increasing hour that passed Sherlock started to think he'd made a mistake sleeping with Bill. He'd thought Bill was different, but, just like John, he'd cleared out the second he got what he wanted.

Well Sherlock hadn't needed John and he sure as hell didn't need Bill. At least this time the clearing out would be easier. It took less than a minute to gather the few items of clothing of Bill's that had scattered around the flat and bag them up. It only took a minute more to get Hamish ready and leave the flat, that was one skill Sherlock had down to a fine art.

Hamish was in sunny form and babbling away to himself and everyone else they passed, and Sherlock decided he might take him down to see Molly after he finished his errand, they hadn't been there in a while and she might have some interesting murders to talk about. And tea. Molly always had tea.

'Sherlock!' Bill's voice cut through his thoughts as Sherlock made his way through the hospital and in a second Bill had passed his coffee cup to the nurse he had been walking with and loped across to Sherlock with a wide smile, 'And you brought my other favourite person with you too.'

He pulled a face at Hamish who immediately held out his tiny hands to Bill, but before Bill could move Sherlock had turned away from him slightly, presenting the bag of clothes.

'Oh you lifesaver, how did you know I needed these?'

'I assumed you would your belongings.'

'I needed them. I feel like I've been wearing this uniform forever.'

'Well then,' Sherlock nodded curtly and turned away, already striding off again. He didn't get far before Bill was at his side again, his smile now gone and instead a frown.

'Hey, what's wrong? Sherlock?' Bill put a hand to Sherlock's arm and turned him around slightly, to which Sherlock cringed.

'Must you insist on making a scene?'

'Fine,' Bill pulled Sherlock down the corridor away from prying eyes, 'Now, what's wrong with you today?'

'What makes you think there is anything wrong?'

'Well you look like your cat just died.'

'I don't have a cat.'

'Then I'll buy you a cat,' Bill tried a smile.

'I don't want a damn cat!'

Sherlock's raised voice caused Bill to step back a fraction, 'Sherlock you're scaring Hamish.'

'That's not your concern.'

Finally Bill seemed to understand, 'Are you angry with me?'

'Startling powers of deduction.'

'Then you're going to have to tell me what I did this time because I haven't slept yet and my brain is struggling to keep up with you.'

'I have no wish to discuss your sex life, although I hope for your sake that you don't struggle to much with conversation. Good afternoon.'

This time he got three steps away before Bill spoke again, 'Hang on, did you just call me stupid, accuse of me of sleeping with someone else and then break up with me all in one sentence?'

When Sherlock didn't say anything Bill risked a few steps forward.

'Sherlock talk to me.'

'I have nothing more to say.'

'Well I have a lot to say...is this because I haven't called?'

'I'm not some teenage girl who sits at home obsessing over-'

'So that's a yes then.' And Bill laughed, a sound that hurt Sherlock more than he would admit, but then a cold hand was  taking his and pulling him back into the main corridor, 'Look around you, Sherlock. Where are we?'

'Have you gone senile?'

'Humour me. Please. Where are we?'

'In a maternity ward.'

'Yeah, and what do you see?'

Sherlock sighed, 'Chairs, sink, midwives-'

'How many midwives do you see?'

'I-'

'Not  _enough_ is the answer.' Bill paused for a minute waiting to see if Sherlock was going to make the connection himself, 'We are so short staffed right now that I haven't left here since I left your flat. I've delivered nearly thirty babies in two days with only a couple of hours sleep in the staff room. And I haven't called because, for one, I have barely had time to take a piss, and two I'll not tell you what I dropped my phone into but there was no way I was touching it again.'

In the silence that followed it was almost painful to look at Bill, but when he did he could see that Bill was telling the truth and he felt like an idiot, 'I thought....'

'You thought I was the sort of wanker who just takes off after a shag never to be heard from again? Well, thanks for that character assassination.'

'I thought you didn't think it was-'

'Good? Christ,' Bill leaned his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder for a second before lifting it again and speaking to Hamish, 'You're father is a bloody idiot.'

'Don't swear in front of the baby.'

'Says the man who just asked how good I thought the sex was!' Bill his head, 'It was good, very good, and I am hoping for lots more of it as soon as I finish this shift from hell and get more than two hours sleep. If that's okay?'

Sherlock felt his face colour slightly and then he nodded, which pleased Bill.

'Does that mean I haven't been dumped?'

'Don't use such juvenile language.'

'Can't help it, hazard of the job,' Bill leaned up and kissed Sherlock's cheek lightly, earning a chorus of whistles from the nurses station where they had an avid audience, then he kissed Hamish, who smacked him in the face with a slobbery hand for his troubles, 'Can I see you tonight?'

Sherlock nodded and turned to leave and Bill went back to work.

As Sherlock reached the doors he heard one of the other staff ask, in what was supposed to be a whisper, 'Is that Bill's Sherlock then?'

The warmth in his chest, he told himself, was a figment of his imagination.

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little chapter today.

Bill didn't even wait to get changed, arriving at Baker Street less than half an hour after his shift finished, still in his uniform. He got as far as kicking off his shoes before his eyelids started to close. Sherlock put Hamish to bed and then sat and watched Bill sleep for a while. 

'Wake up.'

Bill blinked sleepily but couldn't seem to focus properly. Sherlock shook him gently, but when that didn't make a difference he sighed and half lifted, half dragged Bill off the sofa.

'Just call me a taxi, and I'll go,' Bill muttered. But Sherlock did none of those things. Instead he let go of Bill, who toppled into bed with absolutely no grace. A few minutes later Sherlock joined him, laying on the very far edge of the bed, watching the other man sleep.

 

#

 

Bill woke up alone in an unfamiliar bed and for a second he felt a flash of panic. But then he breathed in the familiar scent of Sherlock's shampoo and he allowed himself a few seconds of indulgence, his face pressed into Sherlock's pillow, before finally dragging himself out of bed. Someone, he presumed Sherlock, had made a half hearted attempt at getting him undressed and he walked towards the kitchen in his boxers and the ratty old teeshirt he wore under his uniform.

Sherlock was fully dressed, immaculate as usual, and chopping pears with frightening precision. Hamish was in his highchair, a plastic spoon in one hand and a rubber finger in the other. He smiled and offered the finger to Bill when he came into the room.

Bill watched Sherlock work for a moment until he realised that Sherlock wasn't just absorbed in what he was doing, he was pretending that Bill wasn't there. Bill smiled, knowing the reason behind Sherlock's actions, and spotting the faint pink flush on the back of Sherlock's neck. He walked up behind the detective, wrapped his arms around him and pressed a kiss into the soft skin behind his ear.

'Does this mean I get to sleep in the big bed now?'

Bill#'s voice was light and teasing, but the seriousness of the question was not lost on either man. In six months Bill had stayed over several times a week, but always on the sofa. Sherlock's room, he knew, was exactly that. It was Sherlock's. The detective had, on one of the rare occasions they had talked about it, confessed that while, on occasion, other people had slept there, they had never slept with him. His bed, his room, his space, was his.

Bill would never admit to holding his breath as he waited for Sherlock's answer.

'I...would not object.'

Bill took the knife out of Sherlock's unresistant hand and turned him around so they were face to face, then he kissed him softly. The way Sherlock kept his eyes closed was so endearing that Bill just watched him, his fingertips tracing across Sherlock's cheekbone. 

The moment was broken by a well aimed rubber finger which landed on the counter behind Sherlock. Bill didn't look away for a moment, scrutinising Sherlock's face.

'Is that a real finger?'

'Of course not. Do you think I would give a baby a real finger?'

'...yes.'

'That's what Molly said you'd say.'

Bill laughed and kissed Sherlock again, resting his forehead against Sherlock's for a moment.

'Sherlock, if this...if this is too much or too fast....you tell me, okay? You don't have to do anything you aren't-'

He was silenced by the press of lips against his.

And then Hamish was banging his spoon demanding to be fed and from downstairs came the sound of shouting as Mrs Hudson realised Sherlock had stolen her newspaper again. As Sherlock turned back to the pears he was chopping, Bill retrieved Hamish's rubber finger and wondered how this came to be his life now.

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear. I make no apologies,

John waited most of the day for Mary to come out of the bathroom, right until the point where he just couldn't hold it in anymore. He let himself in and stopped, a slow twist of fear building in his chest as he took in the empty room.

He was already running.

 

#

 

'Oh shit,' Greg hung up his phone and shouted for Donovan. The fear in John's voice had been terrifying as the doctor tried to explain his suspicions. He let Donovan drive as he called Mycroft.

'I'm on my way,' Mycroft's voice was a deadly calm that Greg had only heard on a handful of occasions.

'I'm only a couple of streets away,' Greg protested as Donovan took a corner slightly too fast and he had to grip the door handle to balance himself.

'Gregory please, leave this to me.'

And Greg did what Greg always did when Mycroft tried to override his job. He ignored him

There was something too calm about Baker Street when they arrived, and Greg paused outside the flat before quietly letting himself in. He could hear Mrs Hudson's TV, but decided to leave Donovan to explain and climbed the stairs to Sherlock's flat. As usual the door was open and he could hear John Watson speaking inside. But by the time he realised  _what_ John was saying the door had been kicked shut behind him and a gun thrust in his face.

 

#

 

Greg had liked Mary well enough. She wasn't who he would have picked for John, and he'd definitely soured on her when she shot Sherlock, but he'd had to respect Sherlock on that one, and if Sherlock could get over it, then Greg could get over it too.

That said, the manic look in her eyes as she leveled her gun between his eyes was terrifying.

'Mary, please,' John spoke calmly, hands out, but he didn't take a step.

'Are you armed?' Mary snarled, 'Gun, now.'

Greg licked his lips and did as she said without a word. It was then that he noticed Sherlock standing very still in the corner, blocking off the passage to his bedroom.

'Where's Hamish?' he asked quietly.

Sherlock jerked his head slightly to indicate the room behind him. Mary moved with lightening speed, crossing the floor in two strides and swinging her gun hand hard across the side of Sherlock's face.

'Hamish?' her voice cracked, 'How fucking dare you use that name.'

'It's what he's called, Mary,' Sherlock responded, ignoring the blood coming from his lip.

'That wasn't your name to give him!' her voice was a roar now, and Greg just hoped Donovan had managed to get Mrs Hudson out, the last thing he wanted was the elderly lady caught up in a stand off. 

He wished Mycroft was there. Greg was a good homicide detective, but he wasn't a negotiator like Mycroft. Hell, right now he'd settle for any one of Mycroft's minions if it meant that everyone walked out. This wasn't like the few times he'd found himself in this position through work. These weren't strangers, these were friends and family and he was all too aware that Hamish was just a few feet away and that Mycroft didn't know what was happening inside the flat.

'Get him,' Mary demanded, and for a second Greg thought she was talking about Mycroft. It was only when Sherlock shook his head that Greg realised.

'Mary, what are you doing?' John asked.

'I'm getting our baby.'

Sherlock had looked frightened before, but now his face hardened into something cold and unreadable.

'He's not yours.'

'He's John's, so we're taking him. You have no right to keep-'

'Mary, I am sorry your baby died, but Hamish is mine,' Sherlock's pale eyes flashed in warning.

'You don't deserve him!' she shouted, 'A junkie murderer who keeps body parts in the fridge! What sort of life is that? At least he'd be safe with us.  _Normal._ Not some freak!'

In the silence that followed her last spat word, a distressed cry came from the bedroom and Sherlock met Mary's hard stare.

'He's late for a feed.'

'Late? Can't even be bothered to feed him on time?'

'He was sleeping, Mary,' John tried to explain.

Hamish's cry grew louder and Sherlock jerked towards the door, but he was stopped by Mary who pointed at John.

'You, go.'

Sherlock's eyes narrowed at the thought of the other man holding his child, but Mary was armed and angry.

'How about I do it,' Greg nodded, 'He knows me.'

'Fine, bring him here. Now.' she turned to Sherlock, 'You can feed him here.'

John looked at his former best friend, and took pity on the man, 'Is there anything you need me to get you?'

'I don't need anything from you,' Sherlock refused to meet John's gaze.

Greg returned with a teary Hamish who reached for Sherlock as soon as he was within reach. Sherlock took him gently and then looked back up at Mary,

'Are you planning on watching?'

When Mary didn't respond or move, Sherlock waited a second and then quietly unbuttoned his shirt with one hand, moving Hamish into position with the other. It was only then that Greg became aware of John staring at Sherlock slightly open mouthed.

'You nurse?'

'It's efficient,' Sherlock was looking down at his son, one hand stroking the fair curls as he cradled him protectively.

There was the sound of cars pulling up outside, breaks screeching and Greg knew instinctively that Mycroft had arrived. From the sneer on her face it was obvious Mary knew it too.

'Call him,' he demanded.

'What?'

'Mycroft. Call him. And tell him that if he tries anything I will put a bullet through your head and that of his precious little brother.'

Greg caught Sherlock's eye and saw the fear there that he only spotted from so many years of seeing the other man at his absolute worst. Sherlock nodded, but unfortunately Mary saw the movement.

'You don't need his fucking permission. Call that arrogant bastard and tell him to leave. Now.'

 


	21. Chapter 21

When Gregory hung up Mycroft gripped the phone in his hand and continued to stare at the black door. He had absolutely no intention of leaving.

Sally Donovan had proven that her personality didn't impact on her ability to do her job efficiently, and she had cordoned off a vast portion of the street, two ambulances and a a half dozen police cars waiting at a safe distance. A discreet nod from Anthea let Mycroft know that his own people were in place and fully briefed on the severity of the situation, but that did little to ease his worry. A worry that was only increased when there was a shout from behind him and he looked to see Bill Murray fighting with two uniformed officers as he attempted to duck under the cordon they had set up. Mycroft sighed. The last thing he needed was an emotional Bill running loose on the scene. 

But one look at the man's face and Mycroft waved his hand to singnal to the officers to let him through.

'What the hell is happening?' Bill didn't waste any time when he reached Mycroft, and the politician strongly suspected that the midwife would have charged straight in if Mycroft was not physically restraining him, 'I just got out of work and...are they okay?'

Mycroft nodded, 'There are no casualties to date.'

Bill's usually cheerful face twisted into a snarl of disgust, 'How can you be so cold?'

'Because getting emotional will not help the situation.'

'That is my child in there!' Bill's shout silenced the surrounding officers who turned to them with obvious interest, and the agents of Mycroft's who did a spectacular job of feigning disinterest.

'My child is in there too,' Mycroft said quietly, studying Bill's face as he did so, and marvelling at how this man had come into his brother's life.

'You get them out?'

Mycroft nodded, 'Of course.'

 

#

 

They had all heard the shout that had come from the street below, but Greg had been the only one watching John's face when it came and for the briefest of seconds he felt sorry for the doctor.

Hamish had finished feeding, a fact that Mary noticed immediately.

'Give him to John.'

'What?' Greg rounded on Mary.

'Give him to John.'

'No,' Sherlock's voice was quiet, but it carried. Mary took a step closer, her gun pointed at him.

'Give him to John,' she said, and then she lowered her aim so she was pointing directly at Hamish, 'Or I'll kill him.'

In the silence that followed John looked from Mary to Sherlock, unsure what to do, and then, at a nod from Greg, he stepped forward and lifted the baby from Sherlock's arms.

Mary reaimed for Sherlock, 'Bathroom. Now. And if come out before we leave...' she left the threat hanging in the air.

'It's okay, Sherlock,' Greg nodded, hoping to god that Mycroft had a plan.

It seemed to take hours for Sherlock to step backwards to the bathroom, and the click of the door shutting was like a gunshot through the flat. Mary nodded at the door and then Greg.

'You first,' she said, and he obediently moved towards the stairs, 'We need a distraction.'

Greg felt one hard kick to the base of his spine before he was falling.


	22. Chapter 22

A teapot was not the most effective of weapons, but it was the first heavy object Sherlock could reach as he crept from the bathroom. It was still half full of tea, long cold now.

John watched him in silence, moving backwards to allow Sherlock room to get to the landing. He was just in time to witness Mary kick Lestrade. Without hesitating he swung the teapot into the side of Mary's head, sending her reeling sideways. A split second later and he'd kicked both guns away from her.

'Lestrade?'

The DI was slowly getting to his feet, wincing in pain.

'I'm alright,' he let out a soft gasp as he tried to climb the stairs, 'I think I cracked a rib.'

'Open the door and let Mycroft's team in,' Sherlock instructed, and then turned back to the open door of his flat, stepping over the unconscious body of Mary Watson to face John, 'Give me back my son!'

For a second it looked like John was going to refuse, and Sherlock advanced on him feeling murderous.

'Now!' he roared over the sound of Mycroft's team running up the wooden stairs.

He didn't wait for John to move, but just snatched the now crying Hamish from his arms, turning away as he cradled the baby close to his chest.

'Sherlock...'

'GET OUT!'

And then the flat was full of people. John's arms were yanked back as handcuffs were slapped on his wrists.

'Hey, I didn't-' he started but he was cut off by a tall man in hospital scrubs who shoved him out of the way, going straight to Sherlock. Two paramedics were trying to get Mary down the stairs, escorted by an officer John vaguely recognised from the Yard, and then it was John's turn to be marched down the stairs and into the back of a police car.

On the way he passed Mycroft who was arguing with Lestrade. The DI caught John's eye and John swallowed.

'I'm sorry, Greg. I didn't know what she was going to-'

'I will deal with you later,' Mycroft growled.

The last thing John saw before the police car pulled away was Sherlock coming out of the door and onto the street where Mrs Hudson practically flung herself onto him.

 

#

 

'Don't touch him,' Sherlock refused to hand Hamish over to the paramedic who wanted to take a look at him, not even allowing the woman close enough to touch him. Bill put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, waving the woman away with the other one.

'Sit down,' he directed and waited for Sherlock to perch on the back step of the ambulance. He didn't try to take Hamish, instead he worked around Sherlock, checking the baby over, more to reassure Sherlock so that the detective would let him look at his own bleeding face.

Mycroft was trying to get Greg into one of the ambulances, but the DI was stubbornly insisting on directing his team first.

'You alright, mate?' Bill asked over his shoulder as he gently cleaned the blood from Sherlock's chin. When there was no immediate response Bill looked over his shoulder to see Greg struggling to breathe, his face grey, 'Greg?'

Greg lifted his head to look at Bill but didn't seem to be able to form words. It was only then that Bill noticed the dark stain on the crotch of Greg's trousers.

'I need help here!' he shouted as he abandoned Sherlock and Hamish. At the words Mycroft turned to look and his face creased with worry. Two paramedics joined Bill, trying to steer him away, 'I'm a midwife!'

Mycroft reached them as Greg was being lifted into the ambulance and tried to join them, but Bill pushed past him.

'I'll be more use.'

Ever the man of reason Mycroft knew that Bill was right and he nodded curtly, waiting until the doors closed before he waved for his driver.

 

#

 

Greg blinked groggily up at Mycroft.

'Will you sit down?'

'I just-'

'For God sake, Myc, you're making me dizzy.'

Mycroft looked down at the man who was going to be his husband and tried to overcome the worry that lay heavy in his chest despite the reassurances of the staff who had treated him. Bill had insisted on staying with Greg, leaving only to go and update Sherlock on what was happening, so it was a surprise when he returned pushing a heavy trolley laden down with complicated medical equipment.

'What's this?' Mycroft was instantly on alert as Bill reached out and undid the strap that had been around Greg's stomach, the reassuring swoosh it gave out every time the baby's heart beat being the only thing that he prevented Mycroft from completely breaking down.

'Well,' Bill was working quickly and efficiently, 'I thought we needed an ultrasound.'

'But they gave him one when they brought him in,' Mycroft protested. It had been Greg's first scan and it should have been a happy moment, but they were both too worried to appreciate it.

'Yeah, but I know that wasn't much fun, so I borrowed this little beauty.' Bill pulled a guilty face, 'I might not have  _told_ anyone I was borrowing it though, so keep it to yourselves.' Bill had spread gel across Greg's stomach and pressed a wand to it as he spoke, impressing Mycroft with the speed and efficiency and skill with which he did his job. Even so, it was still a surprise when a second later Bill grinned, 'And there she is.'

'She?' Greg tried to sit up, wincing at the pain in his broken ribs.

'Lie back down, you prat,' Bill scolded, turning the monitor around so Greg and Mycroft could see it.

The world stopped.

This was not the fuzzy grey image they had seen earlier. This was a baby. An actual  _baby._ Tiny, perfectly formed. Bill took in the shocked look on Greg's face.

'Pretty nifty, right? We don't use it nearly as often as we could because it's so bloody expensive and we've only got the one, but I thought you might calm the fuck down a bit if you could actually see her. Now, let's hear what she's up to in there,' with his free hand Bill flicked a switch. There was a pause and then the room was full of the swoosh and whump of a heartbeat.

Mycroft stared transfixed at the tiny hand curling and uncurling on the screen and he determined right there and then the hospital would be in receipt of two more 3D ultrasound machines by the end of the week.

Bill was counting aloud the number of toes and fingers, giving them a running commentary of what he was seeing.

'Looks like you are a bit further along than you thought,' he said, 'I'd say about eighteen weeks, but I'll have to do some proper measurements to be sure. Looks like she has Greg's nose, thank god and she - are you crying?' Bill reeled back in mock disgust whch made Greg laugh even through his tears, 'I can't be dealing with this,' he said, pressing the wand into Mycroft's hand, 'Here, just wiggle it about and don't press any buttons,' and then with a final disgusted grunt he left the room.

He walked straight into Sherlock, who was obviously listening through the door. Before Bill could say anything Sherlock leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

'That was a nice thing you did.'

'I'm a nice person,' Bill smiled at him, 'Now, how about some crappy coffee while we wait for all the tears and snot to tide over in there?'

 

 


	23. Chapter 23

'Dr John Hamish Watson?'

John sighed at the Chief Superintendent who he'd met more than once and who had never forgiven him for John punching him in the face.

'You know who I am.' 

But the man just glared at him and set down the papers he was holding.

'What's this?' John looked down at the sheaf of papers that were slid across the desk towards him. He glanced between the senior officer and the uniformed sergeant who had come with him.

The young officer simply pushed a pen towards him.

'Restraining order.'

John gaped at him, 'A what?' he reached for the papers, 'This is a bit below your pay grade isn't it?'

He quickly skimmed the pages as the older man carried on speaking, but he really didn't need the running commentary.

'You are not to contact Sherlock Holmes in any way. You can't phone him, email him, send him a bloody carrier pigeon,'  the man snarled, clearly annoyed at being dragged out of his bed in the middle of the night for this errand, 'You can't go anywhere near him and for fuck sake stay away from his flat.'

'You need to sign that you've received this,' the young officer said, nodding towards the pen.

John turned a couple more pages, shaking his head, 'I don't suppose I need to ask who managed to get a court to issue this at 1am?'

'No. I don't suppose you do. But I will tell you that a lot of very busy, very  _tired_ people are very angry right now, me being one of them. So if you don't mind will you sign that fucking form so we can all get back to bed?'

John lifted the pen and was surprised at the way his hand shook as he scrawled his name. 

'Take him back to his cell.' the Chief Superintendent turned to leave.

'What?' John protested, 'You can't keep me here, I didn't do anything wrong. You haven't even charged me with anything!'

The man turned to look at him with a withering expression, 'Not my problem. Orders from above.'

John continued to shout as he was led back to the small holding cell he had spent the last ten hours in, even though he knew it wouldn't do any good.

 

#

 

'Ah, Ms Morstan.'

The only response was a snarl as Mary struggled against her restraints.

'Believe me,' Mycroft said, removing his jacket, 'I don't want to be here either. I would much rather be at home, fast asleep beside my partner. Unfortunately he is currently in in a hospital bed because of you.'

'It was only a couple of stairs,' Mary curled her lip.

'You attacked someone who had their back to you and no way of defending themselves. As it is Detective Inspector Lestrade suffered several broken ribs, a wrist fracture and a concussion.'

'Hardly life threatening,' Mary replied, and they both knew that Mary and Mycroft had each caused much worse injuries to other people in the past.

'He's pregnant.'

Mary paled slightly at that, clearly remembering her own trauma and now realising just how much that changed things in her current situation.

'Let us be clear that the only reason you are still alive is because the Detective Inspector is a good and honorable man who would prefer you to get help,' Mycroft was pulling on a pair of gloves, 'However, I am neither good nor honorable.'

Mycroft moved at lightening speed, striking Mary hard across the cheek with the back of his hand, opening a gash under her eye. He gave her a second to take a few breaths and turn her head back around to face him, her eyes cold and hard.

'Is that how you get your kicks? Smacking around women who can't do anything to defend themselves?'

Mycroft leaned in close to her face and gave her one of his bland smiles, 'You aren't a woman. You're a monster.'

He grabbed her chin roughly and turned her face away from him so he could whisper in her ear.

'And so am I.'

 

#

 

Anthea had worked with Mycroft for a long time and had seen things that would give other people nightmares. To her credit she merely raised one perfectly arched eyebrow as Mycroft let himself out of the room, his pale lemon shirt splashed with blood that she knew wasn't his, and Mary's screams and sobs following him and then abruptly cutting off as the soundproof door closed again. 

'Can you see that Ms Morstan get's the appropriate medical attention, and set up another meeting with her for tomorrow afternoon.'

Anthea nodded and followed Mycroft wordlessly down the corridor.

'And can you have another shirt sent over, I seem to have spilled something on this one.'

 


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've avoiding college assignments by writing fic instead. And I really want to get this one finished in the next week or so, so have another chapter.

Mrs Hudson had rushed out of her flat the moment she heard the front door open and tried to embrace Sherlock and Hamish at the same time.

'Oh Sherlock!'

'Do let go, Mrs Hudson.'

'I was so worried. I had no idea what was going on until that police woman with the nice hair came to the door and said I had to go outside,' she pursed her lips, 'Honestly, I expected more of John. And to think, I thought that Mary was such a nice girl.'

'Well, first impressions can be wrong,' Bill struggled through the door with a hold all and Hamish's nappy bag.

No one except Hamish could have seen the narrow eyed look that Sherlock gave Bill as he read every layer of meaning in the midwife's words, and he was fast asleep in Sherlock's arms.

'Oh, Bill, let me take one of those.'

Bill shook his head, 'Wouldn't think of it,' he leaned down and pecked the older lady on the cheek, 'I hope you weren't too put out by everything.'

'No no. I've lived with Sherlock for a long time, I've seen much worse, dear. And how is my little man?'

'I'm fine Mrs Hudson.'

This got a titter from the landlady and a slap on the arm, 'I was talking about little Hamish.'

Hamish had been fast asleep since they left the hospital, having been quite overwhelmed by the lights and the fuss that was made over him by Bill's colleagues. Sherlock had refused to let him out of his arms since they had been escorted from Baker Street earlier that day.

'Just tired,' Bill said, before Sherlock could say something cutting that would upset Mrs Hudson, 'He's had an eventful day.'

'I'd say that was a bit of an understatement, dear.'

Bill was trying to urge Sherlock up the stairs, 'I'm sorry about the mess, we'll get it sorted in the morning, I promise.'

But Mrs Hudson just waved her hand, 'Don't worry about that. That lovely girl who works for Sherlock's brother came round with  _two_ vans of cleaners from that posh place by the library that does all those big houses. Now go on, you look exhausted, all of you.'

With a flick of her tea towel she sent them on their way up the stairs.

Sherlock took Hamish straight through to his cot, leaving Bill to lock up. He lay him down and watched him for a long time before eventually changing into an old teeshirt and a pair or ratty pyjama bottoms he'd had for longer than he could remember. He lay down on the side of the bed, watching Hamish through the bars of his cot, and waited for Bill.

 

#

 

'Bill?'

Bill blinked up at Sherlock from where he had been laying on the sofa, watching the television with the sound off.

'What's wrong?' he pushed himself up to a sitting position.

'What are you doing?'

'Trying to sleep,' Bill said, 'Well, trying.'

'Here?'

Bill took in the nervous lick of Sherlock's bottom lip and the way he wasn't coming any closer, and he read more into that stance than Sherlock would ever have given him credit for.

'I didn't want to presume. You look shattered, get some sleep. I'll be here, wide awake.'

Sherlock didn't move for a long time, and then he nodded and turned back towards his room.

Bill lay back down and tried to focus on the late night film he'd been half watching, bu he couldn't shake the notion that he'd said something wrong.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after - just a short chapter tonight after the intensity of yesterday

Mycroft walked through the door as Greg was prodding his hospital breakfast unenthusiastically.

'Something wrong?'

'I don't even know what this is?'

'It's a kale and butternut squash omelette, followed by fresh grapefruit and a bowl of fresh yoghurt and oatmeal.'

Greg turned his dark brown eyes towards Mycroft with suspicion, 'Something tells me this isn't what the rest of the patients are having.'

Mycroft tried not to look guilty, but it was no use when faced with the detective inspector.

'It's what the nutritionist recommended so I made sure it was-'

'I want beans.'

'Beans? Well, I'm sure one of the cooks can put together a five bean-'

'Beans from a tin.'

There was a pause as Mycroft tried to think of a suitable response, but finding none he simply settled for the truth, 'I think something more nutritious might be advisable to help rebuild your strength.'

'The baby wants beans.'

Anyone who knew the politician and had been subjected to his cold and unforgiving personality would have been shocked at the burst of laughter that met that statement. He bit his lip until he composed himself enough to speak and then he gave a slight bow.

'Very well, if the baby wants beans she shall have beans.'

They both knew that meant she would have anything she wanted for the rest of her life, and the soft, but knowing look they shared before Mycroft headed for the door to summon one of his staff only confirmed that.

'Wait!' Greg called out, and then he paused, head tilted to one side as if he was listening to something only he could hear, 'And sausages. And a fried egg.'

'Is there anything else she would like?'

'Some mushrooms and a bit of toast.' Greg asked cheekily.

'Very well.'

'And can I have a coffee?'

'No.' Mycroft rolled his eyes before letting the door close behind him, Greg's huff of laughter following him out into the corridor. 

 

#

 

It was just gone seven when Sherlock walked into the kitchen to find Bill looking for biscuits. He smiled when Sherlock entered looking rumpled.

'Sleep okay?'

'A bit.'

'And Hamish?'

'Still sleeping. I think last night tired him out.'

Bill nodded thoughtfully and gave what Sherlock assumed was meant to be a reassuring smile, 'He won't remember it, you know. If that's that you're worried about.'

Sherlock refused the offer of a biscuit and bent to look at the petri dishes he had lined up on the counter. Behind him Bill took another biscuit from the packet.

'I'll head off as soon as I get dressed.'

Sherlock felt his heart drop and a coldness creep into his chest. He blinked rapidly, fighting down the suddenly swell of nausea. It was what he's expected to hear after all. Who would want to stay around after getting caught up in a hostage situation with a mad ex assassin. He swallowed and nodded slowly, refusing to turn around as he spoke, determined that Bill wouldn't see his face, that he wasn't going to show any weakness. 

This is what sentiment was. This is why he didn't let people get close. Because every time he did, every time he let someone into his life, they took one look around, saw what it was really like and then they walked straight back out again.

'Sherlock? Did you hear me?'

'I heard you, but I don't know what you want me to say?'

A hand closed on his shoulder then, 'What's wrong? You still worried about yesterday because-'

'No. I assure you I have complete faith in whatever Mycroft is doing about that.'

'Then what-?'

'Why don't you just go?'

'Because the shops aren't open yet.' Bill laughed and there was a rustle as he tried to get another biscuit out of the packet.

'What have the shops got to do with it? If you are leaving then just go.'

There was the sound of a glass being lifted out of the cupboard and Bill laughed, 'Because, genius, where else would I get a teapot?'

Sherlock felt very wrong footed by the conversation and he lifted his head  but he still didn't turn around, 'Teapot?'

There was a breath against his ear as Bill leaned over his shoulder, 'Yeah, because you smashed Mrs Hudson's one when you took out a crazy woman. Which is quite sexy actually.'

It was only then that Bill seemed to notice that he and Sherlock were not quite on the same page.

'I'll only be an hour. You two could come with me, we'll get some breakfast on the way back and then I can laze about all day while you do...whatever it is you with all this stuff. I'm not working today, thankfully, because I didn't get any sleep last night at all. That sofa is bloody uncomfortable.'

Sherlock got up and stepped around Bill without looking at him, suddenly needing a few feet of space between them. He filled a glass he had no intention of drinking, 'Then why didn't you come to bed?'

'Because I knew I wasn't going to sleep and I didn't want to keep either of you awake by tossing about all night. And I thought you might want to be on your own with Hamish for a while.'

At this Sherlock finally turned to look at Bill, just in time to see realisation dawn on Bill's face. The other man took two steps forward and lifted the glass out of Sherlock's hand, setting it down on the counter and pressing close into him.

'Please stop doubting me. I don't know what happened with everyone else you've been with, but I'm not them. Okay?'

Bill kissed him very gently.

'Okay?'

Sherlock swallowed and nodded.

'I'm not running out because of some mad woman, or because of your tosser of an ex. That's not your fault. And honestly, I'm more annoyed about what I found in the coffee jar this morning.'

The corner of Sherlock's lips twitched, 'I hope you put it back where you found it.'

'I did, although I was tempted to have someone from the biohazard unit come and collect it.'

This time they both smiled and Bill kissed him again.

'How long do you think Hamish will sleep for?'

'Not long.'

'Better make this quick then,' Bill smirked, and dropped to his knees.

Sherlock gasped as his pyjama bottoms were pulled down in one swift action and then there was a hot breath at his crotch and a tongue licking a stripe up the inside of one thigh.

'What are you doing?'

'What do you think I'm doing?' Bill asked before his tongue teased the tip of Sherlock's rapidly hardening cock.

Sherlock struggled to breathe for a moment. No one.  _No one_ that he had ever been with had shown any interest in doing that to him. Receiving it,  _expecting it_ even, but the men he'd been with had always been more interested in how quickly they could get inside him.

At Sherlock's hesitation Bill immediately stopped and pulled back, looking up at the detective.

'Is this okay? If you want me to stop....?'

Sherlock didn't think he could have spoken if he tried. So he just shook his head, well aware of the hot flush creeping up on his cheeks. Bill smiled up at him, placed a kiss against Sherlock's hip bone, and then without warning took the whole of Sherlock's length into his mouth.

There was a soft thud as Sherlock's head hit the cupboard behind him, and his hands were scrabbling for purchase on the counter top. And then one hand found it's way into Bill's tawny hair, threading tightly into the strands which caused Bill to moan around him, his own hands gripping Sherlock's hips tighter. Sherlock closed his eyes and tried to keep his own moans and gasps as quiet as he could until his mind went blank except for Bill and what he was doing to him.

 

#

 

Mrs Hudson quietly backed out of the door, pinked cheeked but smiling indulgently at what she had just seen. Since the boys were busy she would just bring tea up later. It was nice to see that they had progressed to the next stage of their relationship, she had been so worried Sherlock wouldn't let it get that far after everything that happened with John.

She checked the calendar on her kitchen wall and sighed. It was a shame they couldn't have held out for three more days though and she would have won the pot. As it was she now owed the nice Detective Inspector fifty pounds.

 

 

 


	26. Chapter 26

John lifted his head as the door opened, blinking hard, temporarily blinded by the sudden light after three days in almost complete darkness.

'Dr Watson.'

John clenched his hands, he could never mistake that voice.

'Okay, Mycroft, you've made your point.'

'And what point is that?' the smooth voice replied.

John still couldn't see him properly, only a shape outlined in the doorway.

'Damned if I know. I didn't do anything.'

'Precisely. You didn't do...anything.'

If there was one thing John had always hated about both of the Holmes brothers it was their determination to talk in riddles. But no matter how cryptic Sherlock could be, he had nothing on his older brother.

'Then why am I here?'

'Because you didn't do anything, Dr Watson.'

'That makes absolutely no sense, Mycroft!' John shouted, on his feet now.

'I think you'll find it makes perfect sense if you think about it for long enough,' the tip of an umbrella pressed into John's chest, forcing him backwards again, 'Feel free to take your time. Thinking has never really been your forte after all.'

The umbrella was removed and Mycroft turned away.

'Good afternoon, Dr Watson.'

Then the door was closed and John was plunged into darkness again. He leaped forward and pounded his fists against the metal door until they bled, but no one came.

 

#

 

It was another four days before the door opened again. John could only tell the passing of time by the minute changes in the light that came through the narrow slit high in the wall.

Aside from that one brief visit from Mycroft, it had been seven full days with nothing but his own thoughts and John was no longer even sure who he was anymore.

Seven days of reliving the last few years of his life. Of seeing over and over the cheeky smile Sherlock gave him that first day as he left the morgue, of hearing the raw pain in Sherlock's voice before he jumped, of feeling Sherlock's lips against his and his skin under John's hands. Seven days of the gentle, sad smile Sherlock gave him the day he married Mary, of the treacherous way his heart pounded when he hugged Sherlock, despite his new wife sitting right beside him, of the flash of hurt that crossed Sherlock's face when John found out he was pregnant that was immediately replaced with that blank expression Sherlock had used for everyone else, but never for John, never until that moment.

Seven days of replaying every single moment since then, every meeting, every conversation, every interaction right up until that moment ten days ago when he walked into 221B and discovered the depth of Sherlock's deception.

Seven days of reliving that moment over and over again of the instant he found about he had a son, of the instant he saw Sherlock with that baby in his arms and the fierce look on Sherlock's face that spoke of love. And it was only in the dark of that cell that John realized he had been seeing that same look on Sherlock's face for years, never as strong as it was in that moment that he put himself between John and his baby, but it had always been there. And because it had always been there, John had never understood what it meant before, not when he finally noticed that he was the only one Sherlock looked at like that, or when Sherlock sacrificed himself for John, or when Sherlock protected the woman who shot him because he knew that John had...loved...her.

John closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the cool metal of the door.

Love.

Sherlock had loved him.

And the knowledge of that ripped the breath from his body and he shook until his arms were no longer able to support his weight and he slid to the floor, sobbing and gasping for breath.

Sherlock had loved him.

He had spent so long being angry at Sherlock for leaving him. Angry that he had loved Sherlock so much that he would do anything for Sherlock, but Sherlock hadn't loved him enough to stay, hadn't loved him enough to tell him the truth, to trust him.

But he had....all Sherlock had ever done for John had been because he had loved him.

 _Had...._ loved him.

But John had done...nothing. In all those years they had together John had done nothing to show how he felt, and done nothing to understand how Sherlock felt about him, if anything he had ignored it. He had done nothing when Sherlock came back, done nothing to change his plans with Mary, he had done nothing after that night, done nothing on his wedding day when Sherlock told him he loved him, done nothing but walk away when he found out Sherlock was pregnant and he had done nothing in the months since. He never once asked, never once spoke about it or thought about how Sherlock was feeling. And then, seven days ago, he had stood in 221B and done nothing when Mary threatened Sherlock and the... _his_ son. He had done nothing when it came to Sherlock.

When John had taken Hamish out of Sherlock's arms, a different look came to Sherlock's face. There was a coldness there that John had _never_ seen before. Contempt, pain, anger, a warning and...hatred.

Laying on the cold floor of that dark cell, exhausted, shaking and barely able to breathe, John knew only one thing for certain.

Sherlock didn't love him anymore.

The door opened, spilling light across the floor, illuminating John's pathetic figure huddled on the floor. He didn't even try to lift his head, knowing that he couldn't.

'You can leave now, Dr Watson.'

 

 


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm determined I will finish this by Christmas. it was only supposed to be a short 2000 word piece over two chapters but it's sort of taken on a life of it's own. That said, there's not much left.

'And your mother worries,' Siger sighed apologetically.

'Well she can stop, as you can see everything is fine.'

'But it very nearly wasn't,' Violet frowned, 'Sometimes I wonder if you boys do this on purpose. I really don't know which one of you causes more sleepless nights.'

'I bet I can guess,' Sherlock drawled, pretending he was cleaning his bow, but really listening for the sound of the shower turning off that meant Bill would appear and take over the conversational requirement with his parents. Bill was good at talking to people. He  _liked_ it.

'Sherlock this is serious. You are a parent now.'

'I know. I was there.'

'I just need to know that she's not going to come back again and hurt either of you.'

Sherlock took a rare moment of pause, readjusting his instinctive response to tailor it to his mother, who both knew and didn't want to know the truth.

'Mycroft has taken care of it.'

If Violet gave a satisfied, and slightly proud, smile, then no one was going to comment on it. Mycroft had never been shy about his job when it came to his parents, and Sherlock had the unpleasant suspicion that they knew more about Mycroft's work than he did sometimes. A mathematical genius, Violet had been too young for Bletchley, but, fresh out of university she secured a job with MI6 and within the year she was seconded to the Venona project. She spent the following years jetting back and forward to the states, first code breaking and then teaching others to do it before she eventually retired to a teaching post at the university of Sussex when Sherlock was about ten. Violet refused to speak about her history, but Sherlock got the feeling she missed the Cold War.

The shower stopped and Sherlock only half listened as his father started talking about the new shed he was planning to put at the bottom of his overgrown garden.

'And there's a little room at the back that's a bit like a cloakroom, but bigger, and I thought I could keep the lawnmower in there. And in the main bit there's a little corner under the window that I could put a basket for the dog and....'

The bathroom door opened and there were footsteps along the passage.

'Something strange happened while I was in the shower and I now feel compelled to tie you to a chair and see  _exactly_ how clever that mouth of yours really - oh shit!' 

Bill grabbed the union jack cushion off the armchair and tried to use it to cover his rather impressive erection, his face scarlet.

'Morning Bill,' Violet said cheerfully.

Bill started to back out of the room.

'I'm just...just gonna go and get dressed,' he said, shooting a glare at Sherlock who didn't even attempt to hide his smirk.

At the sound of the bedroom door closing Siger looked at his wife, 'What date is it?'

'The twelfth.'

'Bugger. I think I owe Gregory some money.'

 

#

 

When Bill reappeared he was fully dressed and carrying Hamish, who had decided that napping was a much over rated pass time. Upon seeing his grandparents Hamish broke out into a wide smile and started on one of his babbled rants.

'I swear he's trying to tell your mother how we mistreat him.'

Violet, who was now holding Hamish on her lap, looked down at the baby with a serious expression, 'Did they try to make you eat vegetables again?'

Bill was still slightly pink, and when he caught Sherlock smirking at him he stuck his tongue out and went to make tea.

'....so glad Gregory is home again. Mycie was very worried and completely insufferable. He showed me some scan pictures that he said you gave them, dear?'

'Oh...yeah.' Bill set the tea pot down on the coffee table, 'She's a beauty, isn't she?'

'She certainly seems to take after Gregory. But how on earth can you get that sort of image. We didn't have anything like that back in my day.'

'The joys of technology,' Bill said, handing out tea cups, 'If you want I can take you down to the ward and show you how it works.'

Violet beamed at him, the scientist in her coming forward, 'Oh would you? That would be wonderful!'

'She does like technology,' Siger said, helping himself to a biscuit, 'You should see what she can do with her laptop.'

'The war would have ended a lot sooner if we'd had tablets back then.'

'Yes,' Siger smiled at his wife, 'And wouldn't that have been a pity?'

Violet chose not to respond, instead devoting her attention to Hamish, who seemed to be in the middle of one of his long rants.

'I'm sure she'll make use of it to film everything at the wedding,' Siger went on, dunking a digestive into his tea, 'You are both coming, aren't you?'

'Unfortunately,' Sherlock sighed theatrically.

'And Bill?'

Bill shifted slightly, 'Um, no.'

'No?' Violet tore her attention away from Hamish for a moment, 'Why not?'

'I...um...I wasn't invited.'

'What do you mean?'

'Not invited?'

Bill stood up, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of Sherlock and his parents, 'I'm just gonna nip to the shop.'

'For what?' Sherlock asked.

'Tea. We're out of tea.'

'No we're not there's that big box at the -'

'Coffee then!' Bill cut him off.

No one spoke until they heard the sound of the outside door slam.

 

#

 

Three hours later the front door opened and Bill came in. Sherlock was not listening for him. No, definitely not listening or waiting.

'Did you get the coffee?' he drawled.

'I got gin,' Bill set the bag on the table beside Sherlock's elbow and then went through to the kitchen where he filled the kettle.

Sherlock was close behind, 'Why did you tell my parents you weren't invited to Mycroft's wedding?'

Bill sighed and flicked the switch on the kettle, 'Because I wasn't.'

He went to the cupboard where they kept the biscuits and rooted around until he found an open packet of slightly soft jammy dodgers.

'It's fine. I never expected to be,' he shrugged at Sherlock, 'I've only been around a couple of months.'

'You've been here for the whole of Hamish's life.'

They shared a look them and Bill ducked his head, smiling, 'That's a whole lifetime, true.'

'Yes, but you still haven't answered my question. Why did you tell them you weren't invited?'

'Because I wasn't.'

'You were.'

'No, I think I would have remembered.'

Sherlock sighed again, that dramatic sigh he usually saved for those moments of extreme annoyance, or anytime he had to deal with Anderson. 

'Do you not read the post?' he asked, throwing his hands in the air.

'Not your post, no.'

'Well you should.'

'Sherlock, I'm not going to start reading your post.'

But Sherlock has ducked into the living room, returning with a handful of envelopes, all unopened bar one, which he thrust at Bill.

_'.....request the presence of Sherlock Holmes and William Murray....'_

Bill stared at the invitation in his hand for a long time. This wasn't a plus one, this was the most important man in the country inviting him, by name, to attend the most intimate moment of his life. To attend as Sherlock's partner. 

'You have to come, Hamish is too young to dance and none of Lestrade's friends can pull off a decent Viennese waltz.'

'And I can?' Bill asked, still staring at the stiff card in his hands.

'Of course not!' Sherlock snorted, 'But I can train you in time.'

Bill lifted his eyes from the card to Sherlock, who was doing his best to look nonchalant, but Bill could see the faint traces of anxiety in his posture and expression. He was about to speak when Sherlock beat him to it.

'Please.'

Bill closed the distance between them and pulled Sherlock in for a rough kiss.

'You never need to ask.'

'I do though, because you get really arsey if I-'

Bill cut him off with another kiss which was only called to a halt when Hamish started shouting.

 


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More fluff to rot your teeth

They fell easily into a pattern. Bill stayed over four or five nights a week, only returning to his own flat to collect clean clothes and assure his flatmates that he was still alive. He saw Sherlock most days and on the rare occasion where he couldn't see him, the day passed in a flurry of text messages and late night emails. Bill was attentive, but not overbearing, and he never objected when Sherlock had a case and couldn't see him, or was so distracted that he spent hours staring into space and ignoring Bill altogether. That, of course, did not stop Sherlock from demanding Bill's time and attention as and when it suited him.

Sherlock would not admit it to anyone, but he had grown so used to Bill's presence that he felt uncomfortable when the other man was not there. So much so that he did the unthinkable and had even agreed to go to a party thrown by one of Bill's flatmate to celebrate his promotion.

'Ah, you must be Sherlock!' a small blonde woman enveloped him in a tight embrace before he could respond. Sherlock's mind immediately supplied him with all he needed to know about her, midwife, flatmates with Bill since they met in college, in a long term relationship with a labourer, angling for a proposal at Christmas, 'We've heard all about you. You are all Bill ever talks about these days.'

'I...oh,' Sherlock blinked, unsure how to take the open smile he was confronted with, but he recovered quickly, 'Well, Bill does have a rather limited verbal repertoire.'

The woman smacked his arm, 'He said you were funny. Come and meet everyone. Bill is floating about in the kitchen mixing what he calls cocktails, but I wouldn't drink one if I were you.'

'I have experienced his attempts at mixology.'

She pulled a face, 'Not good, is it?'

'Dreadful.'

They entered the kitchen where Bill was pouring rum into a large jug, he grinned when he saw Sherlock and bounded forward for a kiss.

'I see Cassie found you then, watch out for her, she's a bum pincher.'

'I am not!' the blond, Cassie, punched Bill's bicep.

'Sherlock, Cassie, Cassie, Sherlock. Cassie's a midwife at the Portland. We went to university together.'

Sherlock mentally ticked off a point to himself.

'The Portland?' Sherlock was impressed.

'Yeah,' Cassie squirmed slightly, 'I had good references.'

Sherlock regarded her for a moment, 'You shouldn't be embarrassed about your accomplishments. If others are uncomfortable with it then that's their issue, not yours.'

In the few beats of silence that followed Sherlock was aware of Bill smiling at him, while Cassie looked stricken for a moment. Then she smiled and turned to Bill.

'I like him.'

'Like who?' came a deep voice from the doorway.

Sherlock turned to see a red faced, rather overweight man enter. Five four six, corporate middle management, something to do with sales, single, minor heart condition.

'I know about the heart,' he said conversationally, temporarily stunning Sherlock into silence.

'Bill warned us about you,' he admitted, and then held out his hand, 'Brian. I expect you've guessed the rest, which makes introductions easy. Now, wanna have a look around and tell me who I have the biggest chance with?'

It was on the tip of Sherlock's tongue to shred the man apart, but something in the way Bill was watching him made him pause. He glanced out into the living room which was now full of people, and quickly scanned the assembled crowd.

'The woman by the fishtank with the blond hair.'

Three heads turned to look where Sherlock had indicated, and Bill whistled.

'Mandy?' Cassie declared, 'Are you fucking serious?'

'No body dates Mandy.'

'Why not? She's very attractive.'

'Exactly,' Brian sighed.

There seemed to be some complex social interaction going on that Sherlock didn't fully understand. He looked at each face in turn, frowning at Bill's unhelpful shrug, and then he stepped forward to the kitchen table where Bill had laid out his bottles. He poured a drink and pressed it into Brian's hands.

'Take this to her.'

'What is it?'

'Peach schnapps.'

'She already has a beer.'

'She doesn't like beer, but she's too embarrassed to ask for something her friends think is girly. It's obvious you have a long history-'

'They've know each other for years, Mandy works in the accountancy department of Brian's firm,' Cassie supplied, 'That's how we first met her. She got divorced last year.'

'-and the fact that she keeps glancing at you with what can only be described as affection is a rather telling point. Judging by her teeshirt choice she is a rather avid rugby fan, as are you, so I would suggest inviting her to a game.'

'..I...'

'Trust him,' Bill leaned over and rested his chin on Sherlock's shoulder, 'He's always right.'

They watched Brian walk over, two glasses in hand, to the beautiful Mandy and then Cassie looked at Sherlock.

'And so what can you tell me?'

 

#

 

'And you say you're not a people person,' Bill kissed Sherlock's neck as he backed him towards the bedroom door.

'You're friends are rather-'

'Amazing?'

'Not the adjective I was looking for but they are.....tolerable.'

'And you were right about Mandy and Brian.'

'I'm always right.'

'Really?' Bill kissed him, 'What am I thinking now?'

 

#

 

Three weeks after the party at Bill's, Sherlock was woken by a grumbling Hamish. He lifted the baby from his cot and turned to leave the bedroom, not wanting to wake Bill, but stopped in the doorway to look back. 

Bill had, on Sherlock's exit from the bed, rolled over to occupy Sherlock's space. His arms and legs spread out.

Sherlock watched him. THIS was the man who had accepted him, who...who loved him. He was asleep in Sherlock's bed, where he was most nights. And it was nice to have someone there. It had been many years since Sherlock had shared a bed with someone on a romantic level. He'd shared a bed with John more than once as part of a case, but, despite the emotions involved, it was only ever platonic.

And then there was Bill.

Bill who had walked the floor for hours on end with Hamish when he was ill. Bill who started the night at the far edge of the bed and gravitated towards Sherlock until he was plastered against the detective. Bill who was asleep in his bed right now.

Sherlock smiled at Hamish.

'Shall we keep him?'

 

 


	29. Chapter 29

'You'd think a man might be allowed to be the centre of attention on his own bloody wedding day!'

Mycroft tightened his hold on Greg's hand at the outburst from the policeman.

'You're enjoying this, aren't you?' Greg accused, but there was no malice in his voice. Instead he carried on watching Sherlock dance with Bill. Bill leaned in an whispered something that made Sherlock laugh and Greg had a sudden sense that he could stop worrying about Sherlock now.

'I confess it does make me happy to see him so at ease.'

'Bill's been good for him,' Greg said, and then he turned to face his new husband, 'And you did check him out, properly I mean?'

Mycroft nodded, a slight smile on his face, 'You doubt me?'

'No.'

'Well then.' Mycroft stood up, 'May I be allowed to dance with my husband?'

Greg shifted uncomfortably, one hand instinctively going to his stomach , which was now large and obvious even under his impeccably tailored suit. Mycroft covered Greg's hand with his, taking a second to admire the ring newly placed on his finger.

'You look wonderful,' he whispered, and he meant it. He'd surprised even himself by how much he wanted Gregory, and how much his changing shape turned him on. All he wanted to do was touch and feel the other man.Since Gregory's ribs had healed and he got the all clear from his doctor, sex had been a four times a day occurrence.

As they danced slowly together, Mycroft took a moment to consider this man, his husband, again. The ever smiling, optimistic, sometimes grumpy policeman that he got to hold every night. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Greg's shoulder, trying to hide the emotion he knew would be evident on his face.

'What did I do before you?'

Greg stepped back to look at Mycroft, his hand coming up to ghost across Mycroft's cheekbone, 'What did I do before you?'

'Gregory...'

'I mean it. I was so fucking miserable and I didn't even know it. I wish I 'd known.'

'Known what?'

'That one day I'd meet you and everything would be better.'

'Gregory, I...'

Greg pulled him close, wrapping his arms around him, 'Don't cry, love. People will think you're having second thoughts.'

Mycroft tried a smile, but couldn't quite manage it, 'I'll never want anyone else.'

The words were so simple, but the emotion behind them still rocked Greg and he struggled to stop himself tearing up when faced with Mycroft's depth of feelings for him. Instead he gathered Mycroft as close to him as his stomach would allow.

'I'm so in love with you,' he whispered into the politician's ear, and he meant it.

 

#

 

'Can we leave now?' Sherlock asked for the third time as he and Bill made their way back to the reception.

'No, we can't.'

'Why not?'

'Because I didn't endure two months of waltz lessons and not get to show them off.'

'We can dance at home.'

'Who's home? Because Cassie and Brian will just take the piss if we start dancing in my living room. And Mrs Hudson wasn't too impressed with-'

'Our home.'

Bill stopped walking and turned to look at Sherlock, who was doing everything he could to avoid eye contact.

'Sherlock?'

'If...if you wanted...?'

Bill took at step closer to the detective, forcing him to look up at him, 'Are you asking me to...to move in?'

There was the longest moment of silence and then Sherlock sighed, 'Obviously.'

'Are you sure?'

'I....Hamish has grown accustomed to you.'

Bill couldn't help the snort of laughter that followed Sherlock's statement, 'You know, that isn't even the most offensive thing you've ever said to me.'

'Is that a yes?'

Leaning forward Bill kissed him softly, 'I'll start moving things in the morning.'

'I can help-'

'No! No,' he shook his head, 'You'll just bitch about how long it takes and how bored you are.'

'I won't.'

'Yes you will.'

They fell into silence, just staring at each other until Bill took a deep breath.

'Are you sure?'

Sherlock nodded, 'Yes.'

'And is it because you want  _me_ there and not because you want a live in house keeper?'

'I want you.'

Bill pressed against Sherlock, kissing him hard, 'Say that again.'

'I will not.'

'I bet I can make you.'

'Later.'

'At home?'

Sherlock smiled softly, 'At home.'

 

#

 

Bill didn't like the way Mrs Hudson was looking at him as he took his seat beside her, or the smirk on her face when she offered him a mint.

'And you might want to brush off the dust on your knees dear.'

 

 

 

 

 

 


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little fluff and the return of John Watson.....

'Ah, Sherlock!' Angelo spread his arms as Sherlock entered, Hamish in his arms and Bill following closely behind.

Hamish immediately started to babble at Angelo, who he adored, waving his plump fist about to make his point.

'And what brings this pleasure on a weeknight?' He asked.

'Hamish has a tooth.'

'A tooth?' Angelo peered closer at Hamish, who grinned at him and pulled his pony tail. Angelo stood upright and turned to the restaurant before bellowing, 'Sir has a tooth!'

There was a round of applause from the regular staff and a few looks of confusion from the other customers that Sherlock didn't seem to notice. Angelo steered them towards Sherlock's favoured window seat and a bottle of wine was produced, and all the while Hamish rambled on, banging his spoon on the highchair Sherlock strapped him in before throwing it at Bill.

'...Dada!'

The sudden silence around the small table was enough to worry Hamish, who looked from Bill to Sherlock, but returned his gaze back to the midwife, banged his hand on the tray and said it again.

'Dada.'

'I don't think he's talking to me,' Sherlock said slowly.

'Sherlock, I didn't....I'm not trying to....'

'It's fine,' Sherlock said, and was surprised to realise that it was.

'I'm not...'

'I think he can decide that for himself and wouldn't appreciate us patronising him. Besides, Sherlock is rather complicated as a first word and we can't expect miracles.'

'You aren't seriously going to let him call you Sherlock?'

'It's my name.'

Bill swallowed hard and smiled at Hamish, who was looking rather pleased with himself, and then he picked up Sherlock's hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.

'I love you,' he said, 'Both of you.'

Sherlock didn't say anything, but he smiled as he ducked his head.

 

#

 

John stopped in the middle of the street, heart hammering in his chest as he realised the happy family in the window was  _his family._

That was HIS child sitting there laughing, and his Sherlock who's hand was lifted so tenderly by the man with his back to John.

He clenched his fists against the pain in his chest and tried to drag his gaze away, to force himself to walk on. But then Angelo was there, laughing and carrying plates and Hamish was already so much bigger, so changed from the last time John had seen him three months before. He was almost one now, John realised. He'd be walking and talking soon, if he wasn't already. And since he was Sherlock's son of course he'd be doing it sooner rather than later.

He had a wide, cheeky smile and pink cheeks. Curls like Sherlock's, but sandy like John. He didn't have the same ethereal beauty that Sherlock did, instead there was something rugged and solid about him. He looked like he could laugh for days without having to draw breath.

And in that moment he, his son, was looking at that strange man like he was the most important person in the world.

The man leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the head of a giggling Hamish.

John's heart broke.

 

 


	31. Chapter 31

Hamish was four when it happened.

'Why are you smiling?' Sherlock demanded, slamming down a petri dish.

'Am I?' Bill glanced up from the book he was reading, not even trying to hide his smile.

'Yes. You've been doing it for weeks now and it's getting tiring.'

'Oh. Well, maybe I know something you don't know.'

'I sincerely doubt that.'

Bill raised an eyebrow, 'Really? Would you like to put that to the... test?'

Sherlock froze at the last word, and Bill got to watch his expression changed as his mind raced to the same conclusion that Bill had reached weeks ago. What Bill wasn't expecting was for Sherlock to turn and storm out of the flat.

It was an hour before he came back, plastic bag in hand, and went straight to the bathroom. Bill followed him, only to get the door slammed in his face. He waited outside for almost twenty minutes before he finally gave in and knocked.

'Sherlock? Let me in.'

There was a click as the door was unlocked and then he was confronted with Sherlock, pale and shocked.

'I'm pregnant.'

Bill's smile widened, 'I know.'

'Why are you smiling? This is...I can't.'

In those two words Bill felt like his whole world had been knocked sideways. For weeks he had known and had waited for Sherlock to realise. And now the other man was pushing past him, heading out of the flat for the second time that afternoon, and all Bill could do was watch him go.

 

#

 

Sherlock didn't come home. Bill sat up and waited for him, even resorting to calling Mycroft to ask if he knew where he was.

'Sherlock is a law unto himself, you should know that by now.'

'Please, Mycroft. Will you look for him?'

'And why on earth would I look for someone who doesn't want to be found.'

Of course Mycroft would chose today to be a dick and it was all Bill could do to stop himself shouting at the politician.

'He's pregnant.'

There was silence on the other end of the line, and Bill braced himself for whatever cutting remark Mycroft would deliver. He wasn't expecting an apology.

'I am truly sorry.'

'Don't be,' Bill snapped, 'Just find him.'

It was within the hour when Mycroft text him back.

_He is on his way to Baker Street. Shall we keep Hamish tonight? MH_

Bill silently thanked his luck in having a brother in law as perceptive as Mycroft, even if he thought the man could be an intolerable prick at times. He fired off a response and had just made some tea when the door opened and Sherlock came in.

'Sherlock-'

'I don't want to talk about it.'

He walked straight past Bill and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Bill sat down on the uncomfortable pink armchair and waited. Sometimes it almost killed him how hard it could be to get Sherlock to open up to him. And this...this was a big thing. This wasn't a disagreement over tea or who did the laundry. This was a whole new life that Bill had been so excited about and now...now he didn't know how he was supposed to feel, and all he could do was to wait for Sherlock to speak to him.

He didn't know why, but a sudden sense of unease forced him from his chair twenty minutes later.

'Sherlock.'

'Go away.'

'Sherlock you've been in there a long time, are you okay?'

When there was no answer Bill retreated to the kitchen for a knife, using it to unlock the cheap lock on the door.

'Sherlock what- Jesus Christ what are you doing?'

Through the steam in the bathroom he made out Sherlock sitting on the toilet seat, eyes red, swaying slightly as he contemplated the full bath in front of him, a half empty bottle of scotch in his hand.

Bill was on his knees in front of him in an instant, 'Sherlock, look at me. What are you doing?'

Sherlock turned his strange eyes towards the man in front of him, 'What does it look like I'm doing?'

'It...it looks like you're trying to give yourself an....an.....'

'Abortion? Correct.' Sherlock swayed slightly, causing Bill to prise the bottle out of his hands.

'Sherlock, you don't have to-'

'I do!' Sherlock shouted at him, 'They were closed. They said I should make an appointment, but I need to get it out of me!'

Bill rocked backwards at Sherlock's words, trying to tell himself that the detective was too drunk to realise what he was saying, but that didn't stop the words hurting.

'It?' he whispered.

'Yes.  _It._ This...thing you have done to me. I need it fixed.'

'...fixed?'

Sherlock sighed dramatically, 'Don't make me repeat myself.'

'It's not a thing, Sherlock,' Bill's voice was barely audible.

'Is is a thing. And I need it out of me.'

'After everything you said about Hamish and how much it hurt when...that man called him 'it' and you are doing the same-'

'But it's not Hamish,' Sherlock shouted, 'Don't you see?'

Bill stood up slowly, 'Yeah,' he said eventually, 'I finally do. It's not Hamish. And....and I'm not...John.'

He pulled the plug from the bath, letting the scalding water drain away, and then eased Sherlock to his feet.

'Come on, you need to sleep.'

'I need to-'

'Tomorrow. Properly. I'll make an appointment at the clinic and I'll go with you.'

Sherlock narrowed his eyes in suspicion, 'Why?'

'Because,' Bill said, steering Sherlock towards their bedroom, 'I care about you and I want to make sure you are looked after.'

'Why aren't you angry?'

Sherlock's question caught him off guard and for a moment Bill couldn't answer.

'I am,' he admitted eventually, 'But probably not for the reasons you think.'

'You're upset!'

Bill pulled back the covers and helped Sherlock into bed.

'I don't want to talk about this right now.'

'But-'

'Tomorrow Sherlock.' Bill cut him off, running a hand through his hair and watching until Sherlock finally drifted off to sleep.

 

#

 

The clinic couldn't take Sherlock for another day, a fact that Bill related to a hungover and exhausted looking Sherlock as soon as he was off the phone.

Sherlock nodded but didn't say anything. He didn't say anything for the rest of the day either. Bill arranged for Hamish to spend another night with Mycroft and Greg, who would certainly call in the babysitting favour in the near future. Not that Beatrice was a handful. She was practically a saint compared to her cousin. Bill moved through the flat on autopilot for the rest of the day, not speaking and refusing to make eye contact with Sherlock.

He left Sherlock looking into his microscope and went to bed early, not that he thought he'd get any sleep.

It was approaching two am when he heard the footsteps cross the floor and pause.

Without a word he pulled back the covers and motioned for Sherlock to get in, immediately wrapping the man in his arms and pulling him close.

'Why?' Sherlock asked, the question raising a thousand more.

'I love you,' Bill said into his hair, 'And I will never make you do anything you don't want to do.'

'You make me do the dishes when I don't want.'

Despite himself, Bill smiled and gently kissed Sherlock's temple.

He didn't know how long they lay there in the dark, but it seemed like hours before Sherlock spoke again.

'Will you come with me to the clinic?'

Bill nodded, even though Sherlock couldn't see him, 'Of course I will.'

'I...I want to make sure the baby is okay.'

Bill lifted Sherlock's chin so the other man was forced to look at him.

'Sherlock? What are you saying?'

'I may have harmed it when I...I need to know it's okay.'

'You don't have to do this for me. I'm not going to leave.'

'But you were hurt.'

Bill nodded, 'Yeah. But I meant what I said too. I'm not going to leave and I'm not going to start making demands. I'm not...I'm not John.'

Sherlock stared at him for a long time, and then he nodded very slightly before resting his head back on Bill's chest, 'I know.'


	32. Chapter 32

It was a strange experience walking through the clinic with Sherlock and knowing from the smiles of his colleagues that everyone had guessed why they were there. Bill almost wished he had called Cassie to see if she could see them, but it was too late now. He'd specifically asked for a consultant he knew well and could trust to be discrete when he quietly explained the situation to him.

But one look at Sherlock's face when they entered the small ultrasound room and he turned to the other midwife.

'Can we have a couple of minutes, Liz?'

The man nodded and, without a word, left them alone. Bill immediately turned to Sherlock.

'Are you okay?'

Sherlock blinked at him, 'No.'

Gently guiding him to the edge of the bed, Bill forced Sherlock to sit down, worried that his legs might give way from the amount he was shaking.

'Sherlock, if you've changed your mind it's okay.'

'But you'll-'

'Still be here. It took both of us to make it,' Bill hated himself for the next words that came out of his mouth, 'Didn't it?'

Sherlock's face completely shut down and he let go of Bill's hand.

'You've been listening to Donovan.'

Bill sighed, 'Well she does talk very loudly.'

'She told you-'

'She said a few things at Greg's wedding about your past.'

'What things?'

'Things you used to do when you were using. _How_ you paid for drugs.'

For one awful moment he thought Sherlock was going to cry, but then those pale eyes hardened again.

'Sherlock, if that's the reason, if it's not mine, then tell me.'

'Get out!'

'What?'

'Get out. Get out of this room. Get out of my home.'

Sherlock wasn't looking at him any more, but that didn't stop Bill trying to get his attention.

'Sherlock-?'

'If you are willing to accept the bitter tales told by that repulsive woman then -'

'Sherlock, I am trying to fucking understand here!'

'Don't bother.'

Bill raked a hand through his hair, 'This isn't the place to be talking about this. And fuck knows we really need to talk.'

He paced the room, breathing deeply and trying to work out what to say to the man still sitting on the bed, refusing to look at him.

'Is it me? Is that it? Because I don't understand. You'll have John's baby but not mine? The guy fucks you once and then chooses someone else, but the man who actually loves you...you what? Do you...is it because you still love him? Is it because it's not John's?'

Sherlock didn't speak and Bill carried on pacing. He had completed half a dozen circuits of the small room when Sherlock spoke again.

'What if there's something wrong with it?'

'Then we talk about it. But if you don't want this, then...please. Don't do it.'

'But I thought you wanted it?'

Bill struggled to speak for a moment, 'I don't want you to resent me because you think I made you do something you didn't want. I'm sorry for what I said.'

There was silence then, bar the gentle hum of the overhead light.

'It hurt,' Sherlock said eventually.

'I know, but I'm not leaving you to do this on your own. I'm not...I wouldn't do that.'

'That's not what I meant. I meant that it  _hurt.'_

There was nothing on earth that could have prevented the smile that flashed across Bill's face at this admission.

'Sherlock, you have been  _tortured._ You were bloody shot! How is pushing out one small baby more painful than that?'

'Says the man who's never had to do it.'

Bill smiled and took Sherlock's hand, 'I will get you drugs.'

'Good drugs?'

'Not your idea of good, no. But if you can promise not to knock anyone out this time then I promise you can have an epidural.'

'And you'll do it?'

'Not the epidural, no.'

'I mean, _it_. You'll be my midwife again?'

'That's not really procedure...' Bill started, getting ready to list all the reasons why it was discouraged, but the look on Sherlock's face made Bill nod, 'Any thing you want.' He pulled Sherlock close to him with one arm and kissed the side of his head.

Sherlock mumbled something into his shoulder that Bill didn't catch.

'What?'

'I said you don't have to move out.'

Bill huffed out a breath of laughter, 'Good. Because I wasn't planning to.'

 

#

 

They left the clinic an hour later, Bill's hand on the small of Sherlock's back as he steered the exhausted detective back to the street. The consultant midwife had returned and spent twenty minutes reassuring Sherlock and Bill as she worked, taking measurements, working out dates, and they had left with the knowledge that there would be more tests and checkups down the line, but in a little more than seven months there would be a fourth member of their household.

In the back of the taxi Sherlock stared out the window in what seemed to be a daze. Bill slid his hand across the seat and took hold of Sherlock's. Sherlock didn't look away from the window, but when Bill squeezed his hand, Sherlock squeeze it back.


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> short little one today.

'I see no reason why we have to keep doing this.'

'Because when you are old and grey and losing your marbles I can show you the pictures and you will smile.'

'Says who?'

'I do.'

Sherlock's pout would put supermodels to shame.

'Hamish doesn't even believe in Santa.'

Bill sighed, Sherlock had a tendency to be completely honest with Hamish, which had been the result of more than one awkward moment over the last four years.

'Hamish?' he shouted, waiting for the boy to appear, 'Do you believe in Santa?'

Hamish narrowed his eyes and looked from one of his parents to the other, the suspicion clear in his expression.

'Does my level of belief directly impact on the number of presents I will receive?'

Bill responded to Sherlock's smirk with a roll of his eyes.

'Yeah, he's definitely a Holmes,' Bill said, throwing Hamish's hat at him.

Hamish pulled the hat onto his head with a distinct lack of enthusiasm, 'Why do we have to do this?'

'Because your gran wants a picture and even I'm not stupid enough to ignore what Violet wants.'

Hamish seemed to consider this a fair point, as did Sherlock, who allowed Bill to hold his hand as they walked slowly down the length of Baker Street.

 

#

 

John Watson watched Sherlock leave 221B, hand in hand with someone else, Hamish, his son, a few steps ahead. He followed them slowly, oblivious to the lights and decorations around him, only seeing Sherlock.

Sherlock. The mad genius he had fallen in love with so quickly. The man he'd lost for so long. The man John's wife had tried to kill, more than once. The man who was laughing as he walked, his breath forming clouds in the freezing air.

The man he was with leaned in close for the briefest moment and pressed a kiss against Sherlock's temple, and the anger in John's chest started to boil.

Why was that man touching his Sherlock?

He walked behind them, fists clenched, struggling to breathe.

 


	34. Chapter 34

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I thought I had updated last night, but apparently I just imagined it. Sorry. Short and a little sad chapter. But a nice one will be coming later.

After Sherlock's flight two days ago, followed by a short visit to Baker Street to confirm the situation with his brother, Mycroft had retreated to his own office to think it over. The day had seemed impossibly long and he found it difficult to concentrate on even the most basic of tasks.

Eventually he gave up and summoned his driver. Gregory was already asleep when he got home, and Mycroft watched him for a while after checking on Beatrice, who was fast asleep, thumb in mouth.

He thought about the last few years. The pain that came with losing their first child, and the uncertainty of Beatrice, which brought with it such elation and an unexpected yearning which had turned into an obsession, and desperation as month after month went by and nothing happened.

He thought about those few brief days at the end of the summer where the test showed positive. Before the cramps started.

He thought about Gregory's silence on the matter, the stoic way he carried on, neither of them mentioning it to anyone else, dealing with their pain in private.

He thought about all the tests they'd had done that had showed nothing wrong, and he thought about that horrible moment every few weeks when he waited, sick to his stomach with nerves for a result that refused to come.

On those days they would take Beatrice out, proudly parade her through museums and parks, proud when strangers smiled at her or elderly ladies commented on her hair, long and red and straight, flying about her like a gypsy no matter what attempts to tame it or how liberal they were with hair ties and slides. And they'd hold hands and tell each other with small smiles and a squeeze of fingers that this was enough. 

#

Greg woke up in the dark and knew instantly that Mycroft was still awake. He rolled over to find the other man laying on this back staring at the dark ceiling, seemingly lost in thought.

'I didn't hear you come in.'

When Mycroft didn't respond, Greg reached out and put his hand on Mycroft's chest.'

'Myc?'

There was a beat of silence before Mycroft spoke, still without looking at Greg.

'Sherlock is pregnant.'

The words echoed in the dark room and Greg felt a treacherous little stab in his chest. But Greg pushed it away to deal with at another time, another time when Mycroft wasn't laying beside him clearly trying to work through his own emotions on it. Greg watched the profile of the man beside him as he struggled to think what to say, and slowly felt himself smile, 'That great news.'

At this Mycroft did turn to look at him, and Greg could see the uncertainty in eyes. He leaned forward an pressed a kiss to Mycroft's shoulder.

'Is that why you were so late tonight? You didn't want to tell me?'

'I didn't know how...I didn't want to upset you.'

Greg smiled again, a sad smile time and he reached out and stroked the side of Mycroft's face.

'Why would I be upset?'

'I didn't...I'm not good with predicting...feelings.' Mycroft closed his eyes and leaned his cheek into Greg's palm.

'It's brilliant, and you know it is.'

'...yes.'

Greg sighed and waited until Mycroft opened his eyes again and looked deep into them.

'We can be sad for ourselves and happy for someone else at the same time, you know.'

Mycroft did nothing then but stare at him for a very long time, with that soft, unguarded look that so many people ever got to see.

'I love you so much,' he whispered, his voice breaking slightly.

'Good,' Greg slid his hand behind Mycroft's head and pulled him towards him, 'Now come here and show me how much.'


	35. Chapter 35

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one sort of got away from me. I actually almost felt sorry for John. Almost.

It had started out by chance. He'd gone to Camden market to look for something to do on a lonely morning off and spotted Sherlock's parents wandering through the craft stalls, proudly steering a pushchair and his heart had lurched.

Before he realised it, he was following them as they stopped to admire carvings and lamps. It was easy to stay out of sight in the crowd and occasionally he was able to get close enough to hear snatches of conversation, but frustratingly not close enough to catch snatches of conversation, and then there was one awful moment when Violet turned to double back to look at something and she came face to face with John.

'Oh.'

John backed up a step, 'Sorry I-'

She continued to stare at him, head tilted to one side, so like Sherlock's own.

'Are you going to be all day?' Siger appeared behind her, and John's gaze landed on the sleeping baby and he could do nothing but stare at him, taking in every single detail, noticing how much he had grown in just the few months since Mary had tried to take him. His hair was wild like Sherlock's, but pale like John's. He found himself wondering if his eyes were still the same dark blue, or had they brightened like Sherlock's.

John blinked and swallowed hard as he realised that Siger was talking to him now.

'....should probably leave,' he was saying.

John didn't know if he was talking about them or John, but John just nodded dumbly, his heart hammering in his chest and backed away.

'I'm sorry,' he said again, and turned back into the crowd, hot caring who he hit with his shopping bags and he tried to get as far away as possible.

'Oh dear,' he heard Violet say behind him, but the rest of her conversation was lost in the noise of the market.

Soon after that he found himself walking through familiar places they used to go, places that reminded him of Sherlock, just like he used to do when Sherlock was...away. He told himself it was just to fill the time, take away the crippling loneliess that now filled his life again. But eventually he had to admit that his gaze was always scanning the crowds for a tall figure sweeping through like he owned the city.

And then he'd seen them at Angelo's. Sherlock, his son and some man.

That's when the anger started. At first the odd, rare flash that subsided into a night of misery, alcohol and self pity and he would vow to stay away. So he retreated back to his lonely flat, still full of Mary's things, but no Mary. He didn't know where she was now, he had pestered Mycroft for months but all the man would tell him was that Mary was still alive, but she would not be coming back.

'Your wife is a sick woman, Dr Watson,' Mycroft had drawled when John showed up at the club to confront him, 'A sick and dangerous woman. But rest assured she is being taken care of.'

John had opened his mouth to shout again, demanding answers, but instead was seized by two white gloved members of staff and escorted out. The next time he tried to see Mycroft there he was refused entry.

He'd tried other tactics. A coffee with Lestrade where the DI had been sympathetic but tight lipped.

'You know I can't tell you any thing, John. I would if I could. But-'

'But getting your leg over is more important than either my wife or my child?' John had slammed his fist on the table, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room. But Greg had just looked back impassively, a trait he must have picked up from Mycroft.

'Because I don't know.'

'How can you not know?'

'Because he doesn't tell me,' Greg shrugged, 'That's the truth. All I know is that she's not coming back.'

'He told me she was alive.'

Greg sighed and shook his head, 'Then you already know more than I do.'

John wanted to scream, to rant and rave until someone, anyone listened to him and helped him fix his life. But he didn't have the energy to do anything other than choke back a frustrated sob and force out his next question.

'And... Ham...the baby?'

For the first time Greg looked really uncomfortable, 'John, I'm not going to do this.' he started to push his chair away to leave, but John reached out and took hold of his arm.

'Please. Just tell me something.'

'He's fine. Got a tooth.' Greg made a great show of checking his watch before easing himself up from his seat, mindful of the swell of his stomach. John tried not to look at it enviously, the pain of losing both of his children threating to send him into hysterical sobs. Fuck, even Mycroft fucking Holmes, the man most devoid of emotion in London was getting everything he wanted, and John was there on his own.

'Look, John,' Greg was obviously having trouble with what he was about to say, 'I don't think we should do this again. It's a bad idea.'

'You mean Mycroft wouldn't like it.' John spat out.

He expected Greg to retort with something angry, something that would lead to a proper screaming argument where John could let it all out. That's what the old Greg would have done. But not now, now all he saw in Greg's dark eyes was pity. He patted John's shoulder.

'Take care of yourself.'

And then John was on his own. Again. Always so fucking alone.

In desperation he'd taken to visiting Molly when he was at Bart's, under the pretense of just catching up. The first time he'd done it Molly had been so nervous she had dropped her mug and the following few minutes of conversation were so stuttered and uncomfortable the he hadn't even asked the questions he'd wanted to.

So he'd started doing the only thing he could. He'd started to watch.

It hadn't been hard at all, and he was finally grateful for all those long hours Sherlock had forced him to stand or crouch in one place to watch a suspect, or how to avoid being seen.

He'd started with Bart's. It was easy to find somewhere across the street from Sherlock's usual door and wait. He'd done it on a whim one day as he'd left. There had been siren's in the distance and a small thrill went through him that there might be a body, and a body meant there might be Sherlock....he sat there for three hours before he realised he wasn't going to see the other man that night.

Sometimes on his days off he would pass the Yard and just stare for a while, wondering if he would see Sherlock following Lestrade out. Weeks passed, and then one day he did.

To his surprise they walked instead of taking a car, and John followed at a distance. But eventually they reached a junction and Greg headed off with a wave, while Sherlock hailed a cab going in the opposite direction. 

In frustration John went home.

Over the next few months he learned the various routines of the people who had once been his life. He would 'accidentally' be passing just close enough to see them. Sherlock, Greg, Molly, even Mycroft sometimes.

But never Hamish. And so there was only one thing he could do.  
He stared to venture along Baker Street. Not close enough to the flat to alert suspicion or be recognised by his old neighbours, but close enough that he could see anyone coming in or out. 

And sometimes he did, small figures in the distance getting in and out of cabs, or heading away from him with a pushchair, either towards the park, or back towards the shops.

He saw tiny glimpses of a small baby slowly growing and his need to know more, to see him, to see Sherlock, only increased with each day.

After one drunken binge on a particularly low night, he ventured closer than ever before to the flat, until he was standing across the street, hidden in shadows, looking up at the illuminated windows of 221B. 

The curtains were open. Sherlock never remembered, or cared about the curtains, that had always been John's job. As he stood there John remembered all the times he had complained about Sherlock walking around naked in the flat for all to see. He'd have no idea he would one day be using it to his advantage.

It was several hours before he saw signs of life inside, and he was just starting to think that it was entirely possible that Sherlock had gone out and not bothered to turn anything off, which would be entirely possible, when the man himself walked across the window and rummaged around on the desk. 

John's heart lurched. He was in his pyjamas, or what passed for his pyjamas. John had always laughed that a man who cared so much about his appearance would live in threadbare teeshirts and ratty pyjama bottoms that he suspected were last in style in the 1950's.

He'd always liked that Sherlock. He was soft and comfortable and John had spent years wanting to wrap around him and feel the softness of those clothes against his own skin. But he hadn't. And this was the result.

This was him, staring up at a window, watching Sherlock move about, and then a babies cry. Sherlock glanced up but and looked across the room, but he didn't move.

I do take care of him.'

John's anger peaked as Sherlock's words came back to him, and he started to move, ready to hammer on the door of the flat to yell that Sherlock needed to see to his baby....and then there was the flash of a bare chest and arms holding Hamish out to Sherlock who smiled down at him and cradled him against his neck.

He was so busy trying to see who the other person was, so frustrating out of sight behind the wall, that it took John a moment to register that Hamish had stopped crying and Sherlock started pacing the room with him.

He told himself he wouldn't. But he went back again the next night. And almost every night after that.

Obsession. He knew the word but he couldn't apply it to himself. He just couldn't, that would make him as bad as Mary. It would make Mycroft right.

But still he followed them. He watched a baby grow into a toddler and then a young boy with a wide smile and shrewd eyes and far too much energy. He watched him chase ducks in the park, and he watched him go for walks with his grandparents, or go next door with Mrs Hudson to have tea with Mrs Turner, coming back with fistfuls of cake.

He'd watched, angry tears in his eyes as boxes of someone else's things were moved in. He tried to pay attention to who the man was, tried following him more than once to learn more about him. But every second he spent watching him, looking at him, was one second that he wasn't watching Sherlock and Hamish. Tall, fair haired, always laughing. There was nothing special about him, so John stopped looking at him. He...deleted him.

Instead he inserted himself. Imagined the boxes being moved in where his and he was moving back to have the life he should have had. Imagined that the takeaway being delivered was something he'd ordered for a night in. Imagined it was him having slightly too noisy sex with Sherlock on those nights when Hamish stayed with his grandparents.

It was surprisingly easy to do. It made the time spent on his own, and the hours and hours he spent just waiting for a glimpse bearable. He wasn't lonely. He couldn't be lonely when he had this life.

This was supposed to be his life. This was the life he deserved.

At least that's what he told himself as he watched another man kiss Sherlock's temple and take his son's hand as they walked through the Christmas crowds away from him.


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning/day after mycroft tell's greg about sherlock

Greg kissed goodbye to his his daughter after checking she had all she needed for the day with the (much, much argued about nanny) and then kissed his husband even as a barrage of black clad minions invaded their home, he headed back to the bedroom.

Mycroft had mouthed his apologies as he was led away, and Greg had nodded and smiled with the same understanding he always did.

He listened for each of the cars leaving. And he counted, silently, to five hundred, just to make sure.

And only then did Greg let it out.

The anguished keening that came from the Holmes-Lestrade household should have been enough to bring a dozen uniformed officers. But, partly because of the soundproofing, and partly because it was Mycroft's Holmes house, but unless summoned, no one was coming to check.

Greg cried until he was heaving, curled in a small ball in a corner of his own bed. Finally, hours later, falling asleep on a pillow soaked with his own tears, and both arms clutched around himself for some kind of comfort.


	37. Chapter 37

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> something a little bit lighter before the world goes to hell in a handbasket. again.

Sherlock and Bill stood side by side watching Hamish. The four year old had, in the last hour, discovered the uses of mistletoe and had adopted it as his weapon of choice, so far securing kisses from the elf helper at the grotto where he'd had a rather frank discussion with the hired Santa, two elderly ladies who proclaimed him adorable and gave him a pound each, and a very over worked and emotionally exhausted floor manager who looked like she was going to burst into tears when Hamish thrust his fist full of mistletoe towards her and informed her that everyone should have kisses at Christmas. He was currently pulling his routine with the pretty teenage barista in the coffee shop, who in turn let him squirt the whipped cream onto the hot chocolates.

'He get's that from you,' Sherlock said as the barista leaned down and kissed Hamish's proffered cheek.

Bill glanced sideways at Sherlock, 'Do you remember our first kiss?'

It would have taken someone who knew Sherlock very well to see the tiny flicker of a smile.

'Yes.'

 

#

 

Hamish had only been about three weeks old, and it was one of the first times Sherlock had ventured out of the flat with him, and even then it had taken both Bill and Mrs Hudson, (who had become a fierce advocate for all things Bill related since the day Sherlock got home from hospital and the midwife had sent flowers and a Thai meal to the flat for him) the better part of an hour to convince him.

He and Bill walked up Baker Street, turning right into the park for a walk around the lake. Their progress was hampered by every single person they met, who all wanted to stop and admire the sleeping Hamish. 

To the outsider they looked a perfect family unit. Sherlock steering Hamish's pram along the paths, Bill's hand on the small of his back, guiding him along. After the seventh elderly woman peered into the pram and pronounced Hamish as 'beautiful', Bill turned to Sherlock, who was smiling faintly.

'Look at you, trying not to be smug that you produced the most gorgeous baby in London.'

'I fail to see how the aesthetic assessment of a child by a senile-'

'You love it!' Bill cut him off with a wide grin, 'Nothing you love more in the world than being told how amazing Hamish is. Except Hamish himself.'

Sherlock hadn't even tried to argue that point, and so they walked on a little further.

'I read the blog,' Bill said suddenly, 'Last night.'

It was a few more steps before Sherlock spoke, 'I can assure you that I am in no way the infallible magician he -'

'No, not that piece of shite,' Bill cut him off, 'I only got through two paragraphs of that self indulgent crap before the bad grammar got too much for me. No. I'm talking about _your_ blog. The Science of Deduction.'

Sherlock stopped walking, 'What?'

'Yeah, I read all that stuff you posted about perfumes and bees and fuel emissions. It was-'

'Boring?'

'Brilliant.'

Sherlock stared at Bill for a moment, 'What?'

'Yeah. I mean, you did all that, learned all that stuff in your _kitchen._ And then you shared it with the world.'

'The world doesn't seem to appreciate it.'

'It will when it needs you,' Bill cocked his head to one side, 'Isn't that what science is supposed to be? Just finding stuff out for the sake of finding it out. You know, research for research sake. Mark my words, someday someone's innocence will hang on the pipe ash at a crime scene, or someone's life will be dependent on identifying what species of bee stung them. And you have those answers, right there. You've already done the crazy science bit before anyone asked you to. I think it's bloody fantastic.'

Sherlock became aware he was staring at Bill.

'It's not fan-'

'It is! And so are you.' and Bill leaned forward then and pressed a soft, chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips. When he stepped back he didn't give Sherlock time to speak, instead he nodded towards the cafe ahead, 'Come on, let's get some tea and you can point out all the office workers who are having affairs.'

 

#

 

Sherlock was still smiling, but it was the distant smile of someone reliving a memory. Bill reached out and squeezed his hand, pulling Sherlock back to the present. He nodded towards a Women's Institute coach tour who had just arrived, and he'd seen the light in Hamish's eyes.

'We should maybe take our young Lothario home before he fleeces every retired woman in London.'

And so they left, Hamish holding one of Bill's hands, his other on the small of Sherlock's back as they weaved through the crowd, unaware of the blond haired ex-soldier following them.


	38. Chapter 38

Mycroft stopped in the doorway, his briefcase still in his hand and stared at his husband, who was carefully folding clothes into a black travel bag.

'Gregory?'

Greg lifted his head, took in Mycroft's stance and then sighed in disappointment.

'You forgot.'

'I...' Mycroft mentally ran through a list of things he might have forgotten, but came up blank. 

'We're supposed to be going to France, Myc. My parents...' Greg sighed again when it became clear that Mycroft had no idea what he was talking about, 'Forget it. Bea and I will go. You...do whatever it is that you do these days.'

'Gregory-'

'No! Greg shook him off and leaned in close, well aware that Beatrice was in the other room, 'You keep pushing for another baby but you're never here for the one you already have.'

Mycroft reeled back as if Greg had slapped him, but Greg wasn't finished.

'And just for the record, I was at the clinic this morning about going back on contraception.'

'But-'

'I already had the injection, Mycroft.' Greg zipped up the bag and paused for a moment before he turned around to face his husband, 'I can't do this anymore.'

'What? Are you..are...?'

'I'm gonna stay with mum and dad for a few days. Work out how I'm feeling and then we'll talk.'

'Gregory-'

'A few days, Myc!' Greg shouted over him, 'Can't you even give me that?'

 

#

 

Mycroft pressed a kiss to the top of Beatrice's head when he loaded her into the taxi twenty minutes later. She beamed up at him, smile wide and head full of this last minute pre-Christmas treat. Mycroft didn't realise how close Gregory was to him until he stood back up and feel the man's breath against the back of his neck. 

Before he could say anything Greg dropped his gaze, snatching Mycroft's hand and giving it a hard, almost reassuring squeeze.

'I'll see you on Thursday.'

And then he was in the cab beside Beatrice, doing his best to smile at the toddler as they left. Mycroft stood where he was for a long time, not even trying to hide his distress.

 


	39. Chapter 39

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little short chapters this week. I had hoped to be finished with this story by Christmas, but....well.

Sherlock braced himself, one hand on the wall either side of the window as Bill thrust up into him.

'Please,' he whispered as Bill showed down, kissing the back of his neck, 'Please.'

'Whatever you want,' Bill replied, speeding up, relying on Sherlock supporting both their weights as he drove deeper into him.

Sherlock threw his head back, exposing his long neck to Bill, who took advantage and sank his teeth into it.

'Marry me,' he whispered against sweat slicked skin.

'No,' Sherlock didn't even turn around.

'Please.'

'I haven't said yes any of the other times you have asked, what makes you think I'll say yes now?'

It took Bill four desperate thrusts before he was able to say the words, 'You're pregnant, you love me, it's almost Christmas, and right now I have my dick buried- WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?'

Bill pulled out of Sherlock with a speed that was almost painful, but before Sherlock could speak, Bill was running down the stairs, the fact that he was naked and sporting an impressive erection did not seem to bother him.

'Bill?' Mrs Hudson came out of her flat, pointedly ignoring the fact that the man unlocking the door was naked.

'There was someone little pervert watching Sherlock and I....' he seemed to remember who he was talking to and coughed, 'Watching us.'

'Oh you weren't doing it by the window again? I did warn you. You gave Mrs Turner such a fright last time....'

Bill scanned the quiet street, but there was no sign of the man who had been watching them with such intensity.

  


#

  


John watched the tall, naked man step out into the middle of the road, eyes scanning the street.

'Bill,' Sherlock's voice, soft, concerned.

John frowned, Sherlock had never spoken to him like that.

The naked man turned then, unashamed in his nudity, and smiled a brilliant smile at someone John couldn't see inside the brightly lit hallway of 221.

'It's okay,' he said, stepping into the light.

As the door closed behind him, John slipped away into the night.

  



	40. Chapter 40

The day before Christmas Eve Gregory arrived back home to find Mycroft wandering around the house in a daze. It was the first time he'd seen Mycroft during daylight hours for weeks and there was something about the slightly wild look on the politican's face that worried the policeman. He shifted the sleeping Beatrice slightly on his hip.

'What's wrong?'

'You came back.'

Greg's heart sank. He did not want to be having this conversation while standing in the hallway holding a sleeping toddler.

'Okay, look. Just, let me put her down and then...then we'll talk.'

But when Greg came back down, toeing his shoes off in the hall, he could hear the murmur of Mycroft's voice as he spoke to someone on the phone.

'So much for that chat,' Greg sighed and went through to the kitchen. None of the Christmas lights were on, and Greg moved though the rooms, flicking switches. Not that he felt particularly festive, but Bea loved them, and right now that was the most important thing. He was contemplating going to have a nap himself when he heard the soft pad of Mycroft's bare feet a moment before the man joined him in the kitchen.

'Apologies, I didn't not want to take that.'

'Important?' Greg asked, even though he knew Mycroft wouldn't tell him.

Mycroft glanced down at his feet for a beat, 'The head of MI6.'

'But  _you're_ the head of MI6.'

'Not any more.'

Greg tried to make sense of what Mycroft was saying, but all he could do was stare at the man, 'Since when?'

'About an hour ago.'

There was silence for a long moment, but Mycroft didn't seem keen to elaborate.

'Myc, what's going on?'

'I resigned from several of my duties.'

'You quit your job?'

'That is generally what resigned means.'

'But...why? You love your job.'

'I love you more.' It was a quiet statement that both touched and angered Greg, and he shook his head.

'Don't you dare start to make me feel guilty about-'

'You were right. Since Beatrice was born I've increasingly taken you both for granted. I assumed that you wanted what I wanted and I...I just assumed that you would be hear to hold the fort when I wasn't.'

Greg dropped down into one of the seats at the island and covered his face with his hands before running them through his hair and looking up Mycroft.

'This isn't fair. You can't dump this on me...I was angry, Myc. I was lashing out because-'

A hand was raised to stop him.

'I am a supremely selfish man,' Mycroft said, with an honestly that surprised Greg, 'The more of yourself you shared, the more you gave me, the more I wanted. Until you left I didn't realise how you felt about...about...' Mycroft swallowed, the words refusing to come, and Greg felt a surge of pity for him, 'It hurt me too, but I didn't realise until you went to France just how you felt.'

Greg was on his feet again, closing the distance between himself and Mycroft before wrapping his arms around the other man. The effect was instant, Mycroft clung desperately to him, his face buried in Greg's neck.

'Please don't leave me.'


	41. Chapter 41

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and Mycroft thrash it out

They sat opposite each other at the dining table and Mycroft looked disapproving when Greg poured two large glasses of red wine.

  
'Should you really-?' he stopped speaking, chastised by the slightly raised eyebrows that Greg responded with, and held his silence as Greg took a large drink before refilling the glass.

  
'I have barely had a drink in over three years Mycroft, I think I need one for this conversation.'

  
Mycroft gently turned his own glass around by the stem, but he didn't lift it.

'I thought you were happy.'

'I am happy, Myc,' Greg sighed, 'But I'm exhausted too. I've lost two babies in five years and I feel like it's all we talk about now,' he pulled a face, 'When you're actually here that is.'

'Gregory-'

'No!' Greg spoke over him, a little too loudly, 'I know how important what you do is, and I know how much it means to you and I'm not asking you to change that.'

'But you said-'

'I was angry and I was lashing out. But...well, honestly sometimes I do feel that way. When you're away and we don't hear from you for days at a time and, no, listen, I do understand why. But do you know what the first two questions you ask me every time you do manage to call?'  
Mycroft didn't reply. He knew exactly what questions Gregory meant. How is Beatrice? And had Gregory taken his supplements that morning?

'If you didn't want another child then you should have said sooner.'

Greg bit his lip, ignoring the bitterness in Mycroft's voice, knowing it was the other man's self defence mechanisms kicking in.

'I do want another one. But I need a break.'

'...from me?'

'No. Just from all this. I just need for us to stop trying for a while.'

'But the doctors said we needed to consider age and fertility.'

Greg downed the res of his glass and set it back on the table. Mycroft could see that he was contemplating a third, and he silently pushed his own untouched glass towards his husband, but Greg shook his head.

'I need to not have to see how disappointed you are every month.'

'Gregory, don't consider-'

'And I need to stop having to wait until you've gone to work before I can allow myself to be disappointed too. I need to stop locking myself in my office every time someone at work gets pregnant,' he took a deep breath, 'I just need a break. I just need to be able to stop thinking about it for a while, to know for definite that it's not going to happen yet so I, so we, can both fucking well talk about something else.'

Greg wouldn't meet his eye and Mycroft struggled to work out where the conversation was headed now, terrified of the answer.

'Is that why you went back on your contraceptive?'

'Yeah.'

Leaning back in his chair, Mycroft felt anger surging in his chest, coupled with a lifelong jealousy that even now, never fully went away.

'Is this because of Sherlock?'

Greg looked to the side, focusing on a bowl on the sideboard, and Mycroft had his answer.

'Of course it is,' Mycroft sneered, 'Because everything is always about Sherlock, isn't it?' he was on his feet even before he realised he had moved, and suddenly he was leaning down over a surprised Gregory, 'Sherlock waltzed through his life unconcerned for anyone except himself, doing what he likes and leaving ruin in his wake. And do you know who always cleans up after him? Me. For his whole life I have looked after him, sorted out his messes and mistakes, always putting him first only to be met with contempt in return. I lost relationships because really, no one wants to be second best to someone's little brother. My career suffered because of his various habits. I took the blame when he murdered someone, and I made sure that psychopathic woman could never get to him again. But what does it matter when everyone is so clearly enthralled by him. Even now, just this once I wanted something for myself and because of Sherlock that's being taken away too.'  
And now Gregory was on his feet, red faced and shaking as he listened to Mycroft's rant. He'd never heard Mycroft talk about Sherlock that way, and he realised for the first time how deep those emotions went.

'It's not being taken away, Mycroft. I just think we need some time to just be happy about this.'

'Be happy,' Mycroft's mouth twisted unpleasantly, 'Yes. We should all be happy that my life is being put on hold because of Sherlock, yet again. Except this time it's so we can all applaud him for failing to kill a baby he didn't want!'

The dining table jerked violently as Mycroft slammed his palms down onto it, the wine glass tipping over and running, unchecked, across the glossy surface.  
Gregory's expression had completely shut down as if Mycroft was a stranger and he didn't know how to respond to that outburst,. But Mycroft knew him well enough to see his mind working behind his dark eyes, to see the carefully controlled pained that would never be allowed to come out.

On stiff legs the policeman walked across to the sink and picked up a cloth. He dropped it on the table, just within Mycroft's reach and then turned away.

'I'm going to check on Bea and make sure she didn't hear any of that.'

And then he walked out of the room, leaving Mycroft leaning against the table, panting heavily and wondering what he had just done.

#

Greg took his time upstairs. First he checked on the sleeping Beatrice and then he moved through to their own room, peeling off the wine splattered shirt and replacing it with an old, worn tee shirt he liked to sleep in. Eventually he could put it off no longer and he went back downstairs, where he found the rug under the dining table ruined and Mycroft standing at the open back door, smoking and staring at nothing.  
Without a word Greg leaned against the counter and watching.

'I'm sorry,' Mycroft whispered, his voice lonely.

Greg nodded.

'I didn't mean-'

'Myc, I know you love your brother. But this is exactly what I meant. We have both become so emotionally invested in our own situation that we're fighting over it. We need a break from it, because otherwise...Mycroft if we carry on like this it will break us both.'

'But he-'

'Don't tell me,' Greg cut him off, trying to ignore the little stab of pain at the idea, 'If he wants to tell me then he can, but otherwise....when they come over tomorrow we will smile and we will be happy for them.'

'And then?' Mycroft's voice was heartbreakingly small and Greg was struck once more by how very deeply he loved the man standing in the doorway.

'Then we enjoy our Christmas and we'll spend your new found freedom drinking wine and having sex just for the fun of it instead of with an agenda. We'll enjoy what we already have instead of worrying about what we want. Three months, Mycroft. That's all. Just three months of a break before it completely destroys us. That's not so long to wait.'

Mycroft didn't say anything, and Greg knew he still needed time to process their conversation and his own uncontrolled reaction. Truth be told, Greg needed time to process it himself. But now wasn't the time for that. So he filled a glass with water and ignored the spilled win that no one had cleaned up, and headed for the doorway to the hall.

'I'm heading to bed,' there was the slightest of pauses where he struggled to keep the hope out of his voice, not wanting to put any more pressure on Mycroft after everything that had already happened, 'I'll see you up there.'

It was over an hour before Mycroft came upstairs, his footsteps cautious but weary as he undressed in the dark. Neither of them spoke as Mycroft climbed into bed, each lost in their own thoughts.


	42. Chapter 42

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas Eve and all is not going according to plan for Bill - something lighter to tide us over after the last chapter.

On Christmas Eve morning, fresh from night shift Bill burst into the flat, red faced and out of breath. He turned his wild eyes to Sherlock.

'There is a goose in the hallway!'

Two faces turned to him with their most innocent expression.

'What are you talking about?'

'Sherlock, this isn't funny. There is a real life fucking goose at the bottom of the stairs.'

'Are you sure it's alive?'

'It bit me.'

'Oh.'

'I'm going to tell Mrs Hudson you said a bad word,' Hamish frowned.

'Tout!' Bill stuck his tongue out at his son.

Sherlock glanced down at Hamish, who was suddenly very interested in the page he was drawing on.

'Sherlock?'

'Would you believe it followed us home?'

Bill stared between his partner and his son who could each murder someone in front a jury and still convince them they were innocent.

'Yeah, actually, I probably would.' Bill peeled off his coat, 'Does the reason it followed you home have anything to do with all the bits of scone outside?'

'Umm...'

'You need to get it out of her before Mrs Hudson-'

'SHERLOCK HOLMES WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!'

'Oh shit.' Hamish breathed.

'I'll tell Mrs Hudson you said that!'

'She'll never believe you,' Hamish countered, but even as he spoke he was gathering his things in his arms and heading for his bedroom, pausing only to give Sherlock a baleful shrug, 'You're on your own.'  
#  
A stern lecture from Mrs Hudson and a resentful Sherlock and Hamish were cleaning the hall under the watchful eye of Bill, who had stationed himself on the stairs with a cup of tea.

'I don't see why I should have to clean this up, isn't that what Mrs Hudson is for?'

'She's not our housekeeper, Sherlock. And besides, you were the two idiots who lured a goose back to the flat.'

'You could help, you know.' Sherlock pouted up at him.

'I could, but I'm not going to.'

Sherlock glared at him, but Bill only smiled back. Hamish, was on his knees, both fists full of feathers, his hair disheveled and his cheeks flushed.

'Well, I suppose if it takes us all afternoon then we won't have to go to Mycroft's.'

'Nice try, but we're still going.'

Rolling hs eyes, Sherlock twirled the feather in his hands thoughtfully, 'I thought you would be against me doing strenuous work in my condition.'

'Hardly strenuous,' Bill replied at the same time that Hamish demanded, 'What condition.'

Sherlock and Bill exchanged a look of panic, the silent conversation between them conveyed through facial expression only. Then Sherlock nodded at Bill who sighed, set down his cup and looked down at Hamish, who was now standing at the bottom of the stairs with his handfuls of feathers, his eyes dark and angry at clearly having been left out of a conversation between his parents.

'Well,' Bill said slowly, 'You're going to have a little brother or sister.'

Hamish narrowed his eyes suspiciously as he thought about this. After almost a full minute Bill shrugged at his son, 'Well, what do you think?'

With a sidelong look at Sherlock, Hamish blinked slowly and pulled himself up to his full height of three feet four and a half.

'I shall have to discuss this with Bea before I issue my conditions.'

And with that he went back to collecting feathers, leaving Sherlock and Bill looking at each other, Sherlock looking slightly smug, and Bill biting his lip to try and keep the laughter in.

#

When they arrived at Mycroft's, Hamish set straight off to find Beatrice while Bill and Sherlock shrugged off their coats. 

'Five minutes you two,' Greg shouted up the stairs after the two children.

'Cutting it fine, aren't you?'

'Considering you were supposed to he be here an hour ago,' Mycroft sauntered out of the kitchen, glass in hand, 'Do I want to ask the reason for your delay?'

'No,' Bill said, 'You really don't.'

Greg laughed, 'You look like a man who could do with a drink.'

'A large whiskey,' Sherlock replied.

'Not you,' Greg frowned at him and for a the briefest second Sherlock glanced to Mycroft, seeing the worried look on his face, but Greg's frown quickly changed into a smile, and even if he couldn't bring himself to utter the congratulations he wanted to, everyone in the room could see that he meant it.

'Thank you,' Sherlock said, ducking his head slightly, cheeks pink.

When dinner was laid on the table, Bill went to get Hamish and Beatrice, finding them sitting on the floor of Beatrice's room. Although he had heard them whispering quietly to each other as he approached, when he opened the door they were silent and staring intently at what looked like an Action Man sitting inside a pink Barbie convertible.

'What are you doing?' he asked.

Two pale faces turned to look up at him.

'Waiting for a passer by to find him,' Bea intoned in her serious voice with a calmness that sent a shiver through Bill.

He recounted this to the others while the children washed their hands and was surprised when Greg laughed.

'Yeah, poor Action Man has been feeling a bit low lately,' Greg informed him as he topped up the wine glasses, 'That's the third time he's tried to top himself this week. I tell what, though, I wasn't prepared to find him hanging from the ceiling of the dolls house the other morning. Dream House my arse.'

Since none of the other three men seemed overly concerned about this, infact Mycroft was smiling rather indulgently, Bill let it go. He was pretty certain that neither of the children had any murderous or suicidal tendencies, but he made a mental note to keep a closer eye on what Hamish's toys were getting up to.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I managed to leave out two lines which are relevant in a later chapter so I added them in here.

Christmas morning saw 221B look like a crime scene as Hamish worked his way through his presents as Sherlock and Bill looked on indulgently. Later Bill spent most of lunch trying to get Sherlock to eat more, and then later, as Sherlock took a call about a case that apparently couldn't possibly wait until the next morning, Hamish sat down in the armchair across from Bill and stared at him expectantly.

'I have my demands,' he said, leaning back, his leg swinging and his hands gripping the armrest like Sherlock usually sat.

'Okay,' Bill set his cup on the side table and gave his son his full attention.

Hamish raised one eyebrow expectantly, 'You shall need a pen.'

#

Sherlock wandered back in from the kitchen, still on his phone, and absently regarded the Christmas cards on the mantle, occasionally reading one and screwing up his face at whatever sentimental message was scrawled inside.

'..of course she didn't lock herself in there, even one of your officers should-' he stopped, eyes widening at the card in his hands. There were no names inside, just a simple 'Merry Christmas.' He turned it towards Bill who was carefully writing down something Hamish was saying.

'Who sent this?'

Bill glanced up and shrugged, 'How should I know?'

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by the officer on the end of the line.

'No, of course I wasn't talking to you. Now, if you look inside her pockets you'll find a set of keys that won't fit-'

#

'What's this?' Sherlock looked at the list that Bill had handed to him.

'Hamish's-'

'Demands,' a voice from slightly behind Bill said.

'Wishes,' Bill corrected.

Sherlock scanned the points and had to suppress a smile, 'A smart one? Shouldn't be a problem. A boy...'

'But not a ginger one!' Hamish piped up.

'And they mustn't like biscuits?'

'Hudders biscuits are for me,' there was a slightly threatening tone to Hamish's voice.

'Okay,' Sherlock nodded, 'That's, not really how biology works.'

'But we'll do our best,' Bill assured the small boy, and choked back a laugh at the skeptical look he received in return.

'A new pair of craft scissors? I'm sure we can-'

'No!' Bill cut Sherlock off, 'Not happening. My hair has only just grown back.'

It was fortunate that Bill did not expect the child to be repentant because Hamish just smirked slightly in a way that reminded Bill of Sherlock when he knew he'd get his own way eventually.

Bill was still amused by the whole thing later when they went to bed, but Sherlock was thinking of something else entirely.

'You alright?' Bill asked as he adjusted his pillows.

'Just thinking.'

'Case?'

'Sort of,' Sherlock said, which wasn't quite a lie.

What Sherlock was really thinking about was the unsigned card that was still out there in their living room. He hadn't needed a name to know who the card was from. Even after five years he would recognise that handwriting anywhere.

The real question, he thought as Bill turned off the bedside lamp and curled up beside him, was what John Watson was up to now.


	44. Chapter 44

Beatrice had almost fallen asleep where she was sitting on the floor, completing a puzzle with Greg. Mycroft watched them as he sipped his wine, admiring yet again how easily fatherhood had come to Gregory and reflecting on the day they'd had.

It had certainly not been the day Mycroft had been expecting. Greg was already up and making coffee when Mycroft awoke and they spent a quiet half hour in the kitchen together while they waited for Beatrice to make her grand entrance. It wasn't awkward as such, but it lacked some of their usual ease and it was painfully obvious that they were both trying hard to make it as normal as possible.

Beatrice insisted on putting her reading skills to the test and handed out the presents. Mycroft was surprised when she thrust a soft package at him that was labelled in Gregory's handwriting. Inside was a soft cashmere jumper in a pale dove grey. It was something that Mycroft would never have thought of buying for himself, but it was clear that Gregory had put a lot of thought into it and he smiled, fighting down the lump that was forming in his throat.

'Thank you, Gregory.'

Greg just nodded and went back to helping Beatrice.

Growing up the Holmes family had always had a rather formal breakfast on Christmas morning, and the first year they were together Mycroft had tried to implement the same. Gregory, however, had brought his own family traditions with him into their relationship, and a breakfast of cake, croissants and Champagne while sitting cross legged on the floor in front of the fire was infinitely preferable to kedgeree and respectful silence, so it was a tradition Mycroft had been happy to adopt.

While Gregory helped Beatrice get dressed, Mycroft took a quick shower and hesitated for a moment, his hand already reaching for a waistcoat before he smiled and picked up the jumper Gregory had given him. When he looked at his reflection he almost didn't recognise himself. Every day since he was a child he had worn a uniform of some sort. School uniforms seemingly designed to humiliate, and then suits which had grown more expensive as the years passed, becoming armor rather than mere clothes. But this...this was something different, and he wondered what Gregory had been thinking when he picked it.

There was a squeal and a flash of yellow running past the open doorway, and then the thunder of Gregory's footsteps as he chased their daughter through the house. When Mycroft finally joined them downstairs, Beatrice was in the middle of an elaborate dance, the sole purpose of which seemed to be mocking Gregory who was on the other side of the sofa, trying to decide which way round it to run. Beatrice was wearing the bee costume that Sherlock had bought her, and every time she wiggled her bum the little wings flapped and the antennae headband slipped a little bit further over her eyes.

Mycroft didn't think he had ever seen anything as adorable in his life.

Gregory looked up at him and his wide smile softened into something more intimate as he took in what Mycroft was wearing.

'Suits you,' he said quietly.

Mycroft inclined his head slightly, not sure what to say. Beatrice chose that moment to shoot past Greg into the kitchen where she gave a triumphant yell. Greg was after her in a heartbeat and his groan carried through to the living room.

'Not the cake!'

Beatrice shot back out of the kitchen to hide behind Mycroft, a handful of Christmas cake clutched in one small fist.

 

#

 

By the time Mycroft went to bed he was exhausted from keeping up a jolly front for Beatrice. In truth all he wanted was a quiet rest away from the forced festivity and the strange tension that still hung over his marriage. He was worried about Gregory. The man had almost been his usual self, but he had just picked at the elaborately catered lunch and had refused even a sandwich at tea time. The wine, on the hand, seemed to be going down just fine.

Mycroft told himself he wasn't doing anything as childish as pretending to be asleep when Gregory came out of the bathroom, but he was laying on his side, his back facing Gregory's side of the bed, and he didn't move or make a sound as Gregory climbed into bed behind him. The bed moved as Gregory got himself comfortable, arranging his pillows the way he liked them before turning off the lamp.

'I know you're not asleep.'

'Gregory...'

A strong arm wrapped around Mycroft's waist, pulling him closer so that his back was pressed against Gregory's chest and he could feel the other man's breath warm against the back of his neck and then a single, soft kiss pressed behind his ear.

'Merry Christmas, Myc.'

Mycroft said nothing, but he covered Gregory's hand with his own, lacing their fingers together as they both drifted off to sleep.

 

#

 

In a dull grey bedsit that smelled of mould and old food, John Watson sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space. Someone on the floor below was having a party and the sounds of laughter and loud, gaudy Christmas pop songs was making his temples throb. The couple in the room next to him were having a fight, but John couldn't make out the words.

Everywhere around him was the sound of people at Christmas. Some good, some bad, but all typical.

John had spent his day in someone else's flat, taking advantage of their absence to let himself in via means Sherlock would have been proud of. And then he sat at the window and looked across the street at 221. He watched the lights come on in each of the flats, heard the first strains of Mrs Hudson's favourite Christmas CD and then the excited laughter of a child. Curtains were pulled open and he could _just_ see inside.

Brief glimpses of people moving about. Sherlock in a dark shirt accepting a cup of tea from Mrs Husdon, a tall man, _that man,_ eating a slice of toast as he casually surveyed the street outside before he was distracted by a small hand pulling at his shirt.

He watched the flashing red and green lights from the unseen tree reflecting off the window, and he watched as the lights were dimmed as it grew dark, until eventually even the lamps were turned out and the flat was in darkness once more.

Only then did John allow himself to move from his seat, his muscles stiff and sore from so many hours stationary.

He walked home slowly, ignoring the decorations and the greetings from the few people he passed. He climbed the stairs to his room and let himself in, locking it behind him and drawing the chain. Then he sat down on his bed, took his gun from his waist band and laid it beside him, and he waited for that hour before dawn when he could go back again.


	45. Chapter 45

A hand shot across Bill's field of vision, startling him into spilling his tea.

'Jesus Christ, Sherlock!' he shook his head, 'Do I have to get you a bell or something.'

Sherlock didn't respond, instead he thrust his hand closer to Bill's face, and it was only then that Bill noticed he was clutching three fifty pound notes.

'What's this?'

'I need you to take Lestrade out for the evening.'

Bill narrowed his eyes in suspicion, 'Why?'

'Because there is something wrong between him and Mycroft and I require you to provide the necessary reassurances and shoulder should it be required.'

'And why can't you do it?'

'Because I think it has something to do with me.'

'Ah.'

Sherlock immediately latched on to the tone in Bill's voice, 'You are already aware?'

'I might have picked up a few things, yeah.'

'And?'

'And what?'

'What are they?'

Bill shook his head, 'It's not my place to-'

'I'll marry you if you tell me.'

This was met with a snort of laughter, 'No you won't.'

Sherlock's mouth twitched into a slight smile, 'True.'

So Bill called Greg, who seemed all too willing to have a night out with a mate, and Sherlock and Hamish settled down to dissect a dead pigeon they had found behind Mrs Hudson's bins.

 

#

 

'At least you know you're his first choice,' Bill swallowed another mouthful of whisky and became very interested in the pattern of the grain on the table.

'Sherlock loves you.'

'I know,' Bill said, because he did know, 'But I just don't think he loves me most.'

'What do you mean? Like more than Hamish?'

'No! God no, I don't think he could love anything more than he loves Hamish. I mean...romantically, you know?' Bill shrugged helplessly, 'I just can't shake this feeling that he...that's he's settling.'

Greg sighed deeply, understanding dawning on his face, 'You asked him to marry you again, didn't you?'

'Yeah, but I could have maybe picked a better moment,' Bill felt his face colour slightly at the memory, but the smile that had started to form slipped suddenly, 'Why doesn't he want to marry me?'

'He's married to The Work.'

'I'm serious,' Bill looked at Greg, 'Is it because I'm not good enough? Because I'm not...not... _him?'_

 _'_ Him...? Oh. John.'

Bill bit his lip and look down into his glass.

'Trust me, mate,' Greg said, 'That's not it.'

'But-'

'That's not it!'

Greg waited until the attention his shout had attracted from other tables went away and then he leaned forward and spoke in a quieter voice, 'Why would you think that?'

'Because I live in a fucking shrine to John Bloody Watson. Nothing has changed since I moved in, the only reason the last of his stuff got moved from the upstairs bedroom was because Hamish was moving into it. And that's another thing. I love Hamish, I mean...he's my son. Even thought he's not mine, he is. Does that make sense?'

Greg nodded, understanding exactly what Bill meant.

'But every time I look at him now I keep thinking about how Sherlock wanted him so much that he hid him, he gave him John's name, but he didn't even want my-' Bill stopped, his voice cracking with emotion and he looked away, embarrassed.

'Bill, Myc said something....you don't have to tell me, but...'

Bill nodded slowly and, without looking at Greg, told him what Sherlock had tried to do when he found out he was pregnant.

'Jesus,' Greg breathed, 'And now?'

'It's...good. I think.'

Greg knew from Bill's expression that there was still worry there and he tried to find the right words to make it better. All he could come up with was, 'Another round?'

 

#

 

Three hours later Mycroft looked up from his book as a rather intoxicated but somber Gregory was led into the house by an angry Sherlock, who was carrying a sleeping Hamish.

'What's this?' he asked, getting to his feet.

'Apparently I am to stay here tonight because I cannot be trusted to be left alone in the flat overnight. Although what Bill thinks will happen-?'

'Last time you set fire to the kitchen table.' Greg sighed.

'Alone?' Mycroft demanded, 'Where's Bill?'

'Hospital.'

'Why?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his brother's concern, 'Following his revelry with Lestrade, he misjudged the height of the kerb and fell, dislocating his shoulder in the process, so they are keeping him overnight.'

'But that's...I mean, a dislocation isn't that serious,' said Mycroft, who'd suffered at least a dozen various dislocations over the course of his career, 'Why keep him in?'

'I think all the whisky may have had something to do with that. Apparently you can't have painkillers if you are four times the legal limit.' Sherlock cut a sideways glance at Greg, who just shrugged.

'Sherlock was paying.' Greg held up his hands.

Mycroft looked between his brother and his husband and sighed.

'You can put Hamish in the spare bed in Beatrice's room and you can take the Blue Room.'

Sherlock nodded and headed for the stairs.

Mycroft was left staring at a sheepish looking Greg. He shook his head, set his book on the coffee table and headed upstairs to bed, leaving Greg alone in the living room.

Half and hour later the door opened and Greg slid into bed beside him, tucking his cold feet between Mycroft's.

'I love you, you know.'

'You're drunk.'

'A little bit.'

'A lot.'

'....yeah.'

'And you've been smoking.'

'I only had one.'

'Three.'

Greg huffed a soft laugh against the back of Mycroft's neck, 'It was was four.'

There was silence for a while and Mycroft thought Greg had fallen asleep until he suddenly spoke again.

'Thank you for picking me as your first choice.'

Mycroft was stunned into silence, and by the time he managed to gather himself to turn around, Greg was fast asleep. Mycroft kissed his forehead and settled back down, listening to the slow breaths of his husband as he slept.


	46. Chapter 46

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm still wrapping my head around the shitstorm that was episode 2 and the massive plot holes that could hide a bus, so updates might be a bit slower this week. On the plus side, my lady -hubby and I are off to see episode three in the cinema this weekend. There may be gin involved.

'I love you,' Bill smiled sleepily up at Greg as the policeman shepherded him into the house he shared with Mycroft. Sherlock looked up from his phone for just long enough to roll his yes at his painkiller dosed boyfriend, but Hamish was ready and waiting with as large smile.

'Did it hurt? Did you get an x-ray? What painkillers did they give you?'

Bill blinked down at his son, 'Your uncle Greg has a copies of the xray. One each for you and Bea.'

At the mention of her name, Beatrice materialized in the living room, staring up at her father with the same storm coloured eyes of Mycroft. Greg found himself smiling.

'Alright,  x-rays for both of you just as soon as we get Bill to the sofa, and no, you're not to bother him for the rest of the day.'

'Why?' Hamish asked.

'Because he's off his tits on Tramadol.'

'Lestrade!' Sherlock sat up straighter in his seat, but made no attempt to correct Greg's comment.

Greg steered Bill to the sofa, trying not to smile when the midwife lay down, shuffling into a more comfortable position. 

'You're a nice man, Greg.' Bill patted his hand.

'Thank you.'

'You look after him. All of them. Okay?'

'Yeah.'

'Promise?'

'I promise.'

Greg made to stand up again, but his wrist was caught by Bill who frowned at him.

'He died for you.'

The silence in the room made Greg glad the children weren't there.But he didn't move until Bill released his hand.

'I know.'

'So don't make him regret it.'

Greg struggled to find words, aware that Sherlock was watching them from the other side of the room. By the time he was ready to speak, Bill was asleep. He walked out o the kitchen, pausing for a second to grip Sherlock's shoulder.

'He really loves you.'

'...I know.'

 

#

 

'What the FUCK!?'

Bill opened his eyes, still gasping at the pan shooting across his shoulder. He was greeted by two sets of blue eyes doing their best to look innocent, despite Beatrice still having her finger raised.

Before either child could speak, Mycroft was in the room, his gun in one hand and his other beckoning the children towards him. He was met by two expressions of innocence.

'Uncle Bill said 'fuck'.'

'Where are your fathers?' Mycroft demanded.

'Arguing.' Beatrice started.

'About scissors.' Hamish finished in a whisper.

Bill groaned and reached for his own hair.

'Not again, it's only just grown back-'

'Not you,' Beatrice rolled her eyes and thrust forward her teddy, 'He didn't pay up.'

Bill took in the image of the teddy bear, who was now missing an ear.

'His ear?'

'He doesn't have fingers.' Beatrice shrugged.

Bill looked up at Mycroft just in time to see Greg and Sherlock burst into the room, Sherlock looking livid and Greg with his gun in his hands. If Bill had a few more seconds he would have noticed how completely unconcerned either Beatrice or Hamish were at the sight of two armed men storming their living room.

Bill looked up at Sherlock and tried to smile.

'I love you.'

'I know.' 

Greg sighed and tucked his gun into the waistband of his trousers, resigning himself to the long day to come.

 

 


	47. Chapter 47

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates but I have been so ill I have barely made it out of bed. A short one today I think.

'BILL!'

At the sound of Sherlock's shout Bill was running towards the bedroom, expecting something awful. Instead he found Sherlock standing wide eyed and slightly dazed, looking down at his own stomach.

'What's wrong?' Bill automatically went into midwife mode.

'Where did that come from?' Sherlock asked, genuine shock in his voice.

Bill glanced down and his heart lurched at what was, clearly, unmistakably the first formings of a small bump on Sherlock's stomach.

'That wasn't there last night,' Sherlock said.

Bill closed in on him, tipping Sherlock's chin up with the hand not restricted to the sling and looked him in the eyes.

'I'm fairly sure that whatever is in there was already in there last night.'

'That's not what I-'

Bill silenced him with a kiss and then pulled back to look at Sherlock again, unable to hide his smile, 'It really does seem to have appeared overnight though, doesn't it?'

'Is that normal?'

Bill nodded, 'Yeah. It might even get smaller again over the next few days. Don't worry about it.'

'I wasn't worried!'

'Yes you were.'

'I...fine. I might have been somewhat concerned. But if you say it's normal then who am I to question your professional opinion?'

Sherlock turned away to locate a shirt that met his approval. Bill sat on the bed and watched him.

'It's kinda sexy.'

'What?' Sherlock glanced over his shoulder.

'You. Right now. Looking like that.'

'Looking like what?' Sherlock snapped.

But Bill didn't respond. He waited until Sherlock was buttoning up his shirt and beckoned the man forward to stand in front of him, where Sherlock's stomach was level with Bill's face. Bill very gently rested his forehead against it for the briefest of moments, and then he pressed a kiss to the bump and leaned back.

'You, looking all ruffled, carrying our baby... _showing_ that you. It's...sexy.'

Sherlock bit his lip, taken aback, even after five years, by Bill's sincere and open compliments. But when he stepped back he stopped and frowned. Bill was holding a small box and Sherlock had a horrible, sinking feeling about what was coming next.

'I'm not going to ask you to marry me again,' Bill said, reading his thoughts, and, much to his shame, Sherlock relaxed. Bill pulled a grimace that relaxed into an uncertain, nervous smile, 'But I want to give you this anyway. You...you don't have to wear it. I just want you to have it.' Bill lowered his gaze again as if the words were hard to form, 'I just want you to know that you are it for me. I don't...I won't want anyone else. Ever. And Even if you don't wear-'

'Can you put it on?'

It took Bill a moment to realise what Sherlock was saying, and he blinked up at him.

'Sherlock?'

But Sherlock was frowning down at him now in mock annoyance, 'Are you going to give me the ring or not? I assume you have one too?' Bill nodded, 'Good, then that's official.'

'That's not really-'

'I don't care how it works for normal people. This is how it will work for us.' Sherlock narrowed his eyes at Bill, 'Do you want this?'

Bill nodded, 'Do you?'

'Yes.'

After that there didn't seem to be much else to say. Bill opened the small box which contained two matching rings that he'd been hiding for several years and he showed them to Sherlock who nodded.

'Plain, practical. I agree.'

There was no ceremony about it, jut one ring handed to Sherlock and the other Bill put on his own finger. To anyone else it might have been an anitclimax, but to Sherlock and Bill it was perfect, and they smiled at each other, Sherlock took a moment to admire the narrow band on his finger and then Bill was on his feet, kissing him again.

'Sadly no time for sexy,' Bill complained.

'Why not? The flat is quiet-where is Hamish?'

'Calm down,' Bill soothed, 'He's downstairs with Mrs Hudson. They are baking a cake.'

'But she only bakes cakes on Wednesday and-oh.'

Bill leaned in and kissed Sherlock once more, 'Happy Birthday.'


	48. Chapter 48

January passed into February and Sherlock was constantly taken aback by the naked lust in Bill's eyes every time the midwife was in the same room as him. It was...well, Sherlock didn't know what it was, but it made him happy. He'd noticed that Bill's libido tended to spike when he was looking at either the rapidly growing bump Sherlock was now sporting, or Sherlock's left hand, where the simple band would catch the light. If Sherlock had started to manipulate this by purposefully rubbing his stomach in Bill's field of vision that was beside the point.

Sherlock straightened up from where he had been bent over his notes and glanced at Bill who was doing his best to not fall asleep as he watched the news.

Catching the movement out of the corner of his eye, Bill turned and smiled sleepily across at Sherlock who was hit with a sudden surge of warmth in his chest.

He still didn't fully believe that Bill was still here after five years. Still here and still looking at him as if he was the most brilliant man to ever walk the earth. Perhaps it was hormones, but Sherlock had been enjoying showing off to Bill much more than usual. The little touches, a hand ghosting across his back as they walked or fingers idly tracing patterns on his stomach and chest as they fell asleep. The words whispered so only Sherlock could hear, reassurances, praise, love. All so freely given with never any expectation of something in return.

And he'd pushed things.

Sherlock had, on bad nights, gone out of his way to verbally savage Bill when no other target was available. And he'd never once apologised. It wasn't until right then, looking over at his tired partner that Sherlock realised what he had been waiting for. He'd been waiting for the anger. Waiting for the punches.

He'd been waiting for Bill to be John.

'Sherlock?'

Sherlock blinked, momentarily overcome by the sudden concern on Bill's face.

'I'm fine.'

Bill sat up straight and set the remote on the coffee table, 'That's good, but that's not what I asked.'

'I...' Sherlock swallowed, and then, he moved, crossing the floor and taking the seat beside Bill in one swift movement. Without waiting for a response, he tucked himself in beside Bill, resting his head against Bill's chest and forcing the other man to drape his arm across Sherlock's shoulders. It was only then, breathing against the soft, worn fabric of Bill's pyjamas that Sherlock realised he was crying.

'Hey,' Bill stroked Sherlock's shoulders, the concern clear in his voice, 'What's wrong?'

'I don't know.'

At this Bill gave a soft huff of laughter and pressed a kiss into Sherlock's hair, 'Well, when you figure it out you can tell me.'

He pulled the throw down off the back of the sofa and dragged it over Sherlock who made a displeased sound in the back of his throat, 'What is wrong with me?'

'Nothing,' there was another kiss on the top of his head, 'You're tired, you're pregnant and whatever you've been thinking about, or not thinking about, is just a little bit too much for you right now.'

Sherlock buried his face in Bill's teeshirt and silently wished that Bill would just go back to watching the TV and ignore him. Which, after a few moments, is what Bill did.

 


	49. Chapter 49

When Hamish had started school the previous September, Beatrice had started at the same time, despite being a year too young. Within a month they had both been advanced into the next class, Hamish being a year ahead and Bea being two.

'Well,' Beatrice said at the time, 'I am the smart one.'

Bill hadn't been too thrilled with the idea of the kids advancing so quickly, worried that they would become isolated in much the same way that Sherlock and Mycroft had. But Hamish and Bea were exceptionally close and although they preferred each other's company, they were moderately social and had a surprisingly large group of friends and admirers, due, Bill was certain, to their complete disregard for rules and regulations.

Sharing a nanny had been Greg's idea, and for the most part it worked out well. 

'Just stand on this and don't move,' Bill spread the newspaper on the floor and pointed at Hamish who obediently stepped onto it, immediately focusing his gaze on the ceiling.

'And you,' Bill pointed at Beatrice, 'Sit down over there, hands on the table where I can see then, and don't so much think about breathing loudly.'

It was at this point that Sherlock came out of the bathroom and looked surprised to see both children home so early.

'What happened?'

'Well, apparently one of the other boys didn't believe what would happen if Hamish ate an avocado,' Bill snapped, while Bea and Hamish gave Oscar winning performances of total innocence, 'So of course Hamish here had to prove them wrong. His teacher called me at work to collect them.'

Sherlock looked from his son to his niece, 'And as Beatrice is here are we to assume she had something to do with this?'

'Where do you think he got the avocado from?'

'In our defence,' Beatrice began, 'When challenged on our claims were were able to provide a full catalogue of evidence to support our comments that went beyond hearsay and outdated vocal transcripts that could be -'

'You made him shit himself in front of the rest of the class. On purpose. So right now I don't want to hear your defence strategy, save it for your own parents,' Bill turned to Hamish again, 'You, shower now. And we're burning those trousers later.'

As Bill steered Hamish towards the bathroom, Sherlock looked down at Beatrice, who sighed.

'Well that was regrettable,' she sighed.

'Beatrice,' Sherlock said slowly, 'Where is your nanny?'

'Well....' the four year old shifted slightly in her seat, 'It's funny you should ask that-'

'Is it?'

She bit her lip, 'Possibly not.'

'So you're telling me that  _another_ nanny quit?' Sherlock couldn't help but be slightly impressed. Four nannies and two years topped even his and Mycroft's record.

Bea's eyes went wide and sad and she jutted out her lower lip slightly, 'I don't think they like us.'

From the bathroom down the hall Sherlock heard Bill shouting.

'Oh dear God! No! On the floor. Don't lift it up....Christ!'

'Was you're point sufficiently proven?' Sherlock asked her.

Beatrice nodded.

'So you won't need to do it again?'

'...um.'

 

#

 

Later that night, after a laughing Greg had collected a thoroughly unapologetic Bea, and Hamish had long since gone to bed, Bill lay on his back, watching Sherlock get changed.

'Do you ever think there is something wrong with them?'

Sherlock froze, his fingers still curled around a button of his shirt, 'No. Why would you think there was something wrong with them?'

'I don't,' Bill blinked over at him, 'I just asked if you did.'

'No. Of course I don't think there is anything  _wrong_ with them!'

Bill's lips twitched into a smile, 'And so if this baby turns out to be completely boring and normal you won't be disappointed?'

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but then he saw the glint in Bill's eye and he sighed, 'That's not funny.'

Bill laughed and lay back, 'Your face!'

Taking longer than was strictly necessary, Sherlock climbed into bed beside Bill and then glanced at him pointedly, 'Well?'

'Well what?'

'Turn the light off,' Sherlock commanded, 'And then lavish me with your attentions.'

'Oh,' Bill shifted further down under the covers, wrapping himself around Sherlock, 'That's how it's going to be, is it?'

'Obviously.'

Bill kissed Sherlock's neck, his uninjured arm already sliding up under Sherlock's teeshirt, 'Oh. Okay then.'

 


	50. Chapter 50

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, what's been happening with Greg and Mycroft since Christmas.....?

'No, no, it get's better!' Bill took a sip of his lunchtime pint before speaking again, 'Not only did he forget to tell his parents he was pregnant, Violet also took one look at his ring and thought we'd got married without telling her and proceeded to yell at me for the next twenty minutes. And he let her!'

Greg couldn't contain his smirk, 'What else did you expect?'

'Well, I can't complain too much because he more than made up for it later,' Bill grinned, 'I swear, he has a one track mind right now. Speaking of which...' Bill raised his eyebrows, 'How are things your end?'

'Fine,' he lied.

#

Greg hadn't been entirely untruthful when he said that things with Mycroft were fine. In many ways they were happier then they had ever been before. They were affectionate, Mycroft was...well, he wasn't around as much as Greg would have liked, or as much as he'd been led to belief, but he was definitely around more than he was before he reduced his workload. But there was still something missing. 

Sex.

It was the end of February and and he'd received a letter reminding him to make an appointment for his next contraceptive injection which was due in the next few weeks. He hadn't mentioned the letter to Mycroft, but he didn't need to because it became clear that Mycroft was keeping track of it himself.

Greg was just clearing away his and Beas dinner dishes when Mycroft finally came out of his office.

'Apologies Gregory, it seems that my successor is incapable of making it through a half hour meeting without sparking a diplomatic incident.'

'It's fine, Myc,' Greg said, lifting the empty plates, 'I left yours in the microwave.'

Which was how Mycroft Holmes ended up, for the eleventh night in a row, eating a reheated dinner on his own. When he carried his own plate through Greg was still loading the dishwasher, and from the amount of pots and dishes it had taken, it was clear the effort Greg had gone to.

'You didn't like it?' Greg looked down at Mycroft's barely touched dinner.

'No...it...it was lovely. Thank you.'

'You didn't eat it.'

'I'm afraid I wasn't as hungry as I thought.'

Greg said nothing and took the plate from Mycroft's unresisting hands, scraping the remains of the lamb roast into the bin before stacking the plate with the others.

After a few minutes he became aware of Mycroft watching him, but he carried on doing what he was doing until Mycroft spoke.

'Gregory, I appreciate may not be the best time to discuss the subject, but I understand that your next...appointment is due and I wondered if you had given any more thought to the future of-'

'Drop it, Myc.'

'Gregory?'

'I don't want to talk about it right now.'

'But-'

'No. No buts.' Greg turned to face Mycroft, 'Because nothing, nothing has changed. Has it?'

Mycroft opened and closed his mouth but could seem to find an answer, which only made Greg shake his head.

'See. You can't even argue with it. When you said you were reducing your workload I thought that meant you might actually be around a bit more, but your not. You're not around, and even when you are it's obvious you are thinking of something else.'

'Gregory-'

'I don't want to talk about it right now.'

'But-'

'Later, Mycroft.'

Greg closed the dishwasher and reached for the kettle, but Mycroft was right behind him.

'If there is something on your mind then we should talk about it,' Mycroft said in a low voice.

'Fine!' Greg hissed, careful to keep the volume down so Bea wouldn't hear them fight, 'Then why haven't we had sex in nearly three months?'

Mycroft reeled back slightly, but Greg didn't give him a second to recover before he carried on.

'I said I wanted a couple of months of not trying, I didn't say I wanted a couple of months of not having sex at all. And believe me, it's not for lack of trying, Myc. But you're always so bloody busy with a job you don't even do anymore, and when we are in the same bed you don't bloody touch me.' he ran a hand through his hair, 'So is that how it's going to be now? If we aren't actively trying for a baby then we just don't have sex?'

'No!' Mycroft looked truly horrified.

'Well then what? Because we haven't had sex since the start of December, Myc.'

'It can;'t be-'

'It is!' Greg slammed the cupboard door with more force than he intended, 'And....and if you don't want me any more then-'

'I love you.'

'I know you love me,' he turned away so he wouldn't have to look at his husband, 'But I'm saying that if you don't want-'

He was silenced by the force with which he was spun around and pinned against the fridge. Mycroft's whole body was pressed against his, keeping him in place, Mycroft's breath warm against his cheek.

'I want you,' Mycroft said, his voice cracking slightly with the emotion, and it was then that Greg realised that the press against his hip was Mycroft's erection. He looked up at the other man, struggling for something to say, only to be interrupted by a shout from the other room where Beatrice couldn't find her homework book.

#

Three hours later Mycroft was still pounding away the miles on the treadmill with a single mindedness that Greg both admired and feared. The policeman watched from the doorway for a few minutes before he walked up to the machine and pressed the button to decrease the speed until Mycroft was forced to a standstill.

Even then the redhead wouldn't meet his gaze.

'Gregory, I apologise for my earlier behaviour-'

Greg reached out and took Mycroft's hand, 'Come to bed.'

Mycroft finally looked at him, uncertain. But Greg nodded and tightened his grip on Mycroft's hand.

'Bed.'


	51. Chapter 51

Mycroft showered as quickly as he could, focusing on what he was doing to avoid thinking about what was coming next. He was no long sure of anything when it came to sex within their relationship. He didn't even know how they had ended up in the situation they were now in. Everything else between them had been so good lately. All he knew was that he was worried about what would happen when he went back into the bedroom.

So he dealt with it the same way he dealt with everything that worried him. He got it over with.

When he went in Greg was sitting up in bed reading. He glanced across at Mycroft and gave him a half smile before closing his book and setting it on the nightstand. Determined not to show any of the anxiety he was feeling, Mycroft crossed the room and leaned down over Gregory, kissing him firmly.

He wasn't expecting Gregory to pull back with a surprised look and a slight shake of his head.

Mycroft's heart sank.

'I thought you wanted to...'

'I want to talk, Myc,' Gregory indicated the space beside him and after a moment Mycroft climbed in, feeling suddenly awkward.

Before he could speak, Gregory turned the lamp off and then rolled over so he was resting his head against Mycroft's chest, tucking himself under Mycroft's arm so that Mycroft had no option but to wrap his arm around Gregory's shoulders.

'What's going on, Mycroft?' Gregory said quietly.

Mycroft started to stall, the stuttered explanations already forming on his tongue before he realised that there was no point. Gregory wasn't stupid, and Mycroft wasn't about to disrespect his intelligence. Instead he sighed.

'I don't know how it became like this,' Mycroft said, 'I didn't mean it to.'

He felt Gregory nod, but the policeman didn't say anything, instead he waited for Mycroft to go on. Which, eventually, Mycroft did.

'Before Christmas, when things were...'

'Bad?'

'Not as good as they have been at other times,' Mycroft said slowly, 'You were angry with me, and then you went away and I...I didn't think you were coming back.'

'But I did.'

'You did,' Mycroft tightened his grip on Gregory's shoulder slightly, 'And after everything you said, I didn't want to...' Mycroft trailed off, but Gregory nodded again.

'After I told you I felt pressured about a baby you didn't want me to feel like I was being pressured into sex?'

There was silence in the room and Mycroft was glad that Gregory couldn't see his face. Hearing it said out loud like that made it sound so much worse than it had seemed in his own mind all these weeks.

'I thought things were good between us,' Gregory said quietly.

And they had been, Mycroft had to admit. They had been affectionate towards each other, and emotionally they were closer than ever. But the physical side of things had still been difficult.

'I didn't mean for it to happen,' Mycroft said slowly, 'I just wanted you to be happy. You wanted some time and...and that turned into more time until...' until he was scared to initiate anything between them.

'I didn't exactly try too hard either,' Gregory said, surprising him.

'You're not to-'

'I thought you didn't want me. I thought that you only wanted me for more babies, that you didn't find me attractive, or want me. And honestly, I started to hate you a little bit because of it. I hated the way it made me feel, the way you were making me feel and I started to feel like I was trapped here with someone who couldn't bear to touch me.'

A flare of anger at both Gregory's confession and his own stupidity coursed through Mycroft and he started to pull away, 'If that's all you wanted from a relationship then I'm sure you could have found it somewhere else.'

'I thought about it.'

Mycroft's anger vanished, replaced instead with a deep, cold dread that made him feel sick.

'I'll be honest, Myc. I did think about it. I'd never do it, but I thought about it. I'd go so far as flirting with waitresses when I went out for lunch, or chatting up strangers in the pub. But I never did anything else. I just...I just wanted to feel like someone still found me attractive, that there was someone out there who who looked at me and saw more than a handy uterus.'

In the darkness, Mycroft blinked hard, trying to pull his emotions into check, knowing that, no matter what was said next, this was going to be one of the most important conversations of their relationship.

'And it worked for a little while,' Gregory said, 'And then I'd come home and I'd see you and I'd feel guilty because I don't want someone else. But then I'd lie beside you and nothing would happen and I'd be angry.'

'Angry?'

'Yeah. I'd be angry at the way things were. And angry that I'd turned down a guaranteed shag to come home to someone who kept me at arms length. And then I'd be angry at myself for feeling like that, and angry at you for not caring, and then I'd just feel shit about myself and so I'd go out and do the same thing again the next day.'

'But you never-'

'Never!'

Mycroft could feel his hands shaking and he tightened his grip again, hoping that Gregory wouldn't notice. But the thought of Gregory with anyone else, even just flirting with someone else made him feel sick.

After a moment Gregory raised his head from Mycroft's chest, shifting his weight onto his elbow so he was looking down at Mycroft. His fingers traced Mycroft's cheek before Gregory bent his head and kissed Mycroft softly. 

'I want you,' the words came out in a rushed whisper as Mycroft struggled for breath.

'I want you too,' Gregory kissed him again and then lay his head back down on Mycroft's chest, his arm wrapping tightly around Mycroft's waist.

They lay like that for a long time, just listening to the other's breathing, holding each other close. Tonight was not the night it all changed, tonight was the night to just be close. But for the first time in weeks Mycroft felt like everything would be okay between them. Not straight away. But soon. Apparently Gregory thought the same.

'I'm going to get Bill to babysit tomorrow,' he said before pressing a kiss to Mycroft's neck.

Mycroft sighed, 'I think that would be a very good idea.'

 


	52. Chapter 52

'Is he dying?' Hamish hovered in the doorway watching Bill pat Sherlock's back as he heaved.

'Not today. Although I think we can add tomato soup to the things the baby doesn't like.' he glanced up at Hamish, 'Do you want to go and add it to the list and bring Sherlock a glass of water. And I mean water! Not a glass of paraffin like last time.'

'But it was funny.'

Bill fought a smile, it had been _sort_ of funny, but only because Sherlock had been particularly annoying that day. Still he really shouldn't encourage Hamish anymore than he already did.

After a couple of minutes Sherlock started muttering abuse and Bill realized that Hamish still hadn't returned.

'I'll be back in a minute, love. I'm just going to check he hasn't set fire to anything.'

Instead he found Hamish marker in hand, considering the list that had been taped to the fridge.

'Alright, Hamish?'

'Hmm hmm.'

'That wasn't very convincing.'

It was a second before Hamish spoke again, 'If the new baby doesn't like these things does that mean I can't have them either?'

'This is about the ginger biscuits, isn't it?'

Hamish said nothing but jutted his chin defiantly.

'I will personally make sure that you will be supplied with all the ginger biscuits you want no matter whether the baby likes them or not.'

'Don't be silly, that's Hudder's job.'

'Does she know you talk about her like she's your personal servant?'

'Yes. She finds it endearing.'

Bill had to admit that Hamish was probably right.

He smiled to himself as he went to the sink and filled a glass for Sherlock, but he was stilled by Hamish's next question.

'Am I not normal?'

Bill closed his eyes and mouthed a silent curse before he turned off the tap and rounded to look at Hamish, who had moved to the archway, half in and half out, poised for flight in a stance that was identical to Sherlock's when he felt cornered.

'Ah,' he said slowly, 'You heard that?'

Hamish was biting his bottom lip and said nothing.

'I'm sorry,' Bill said, 'I didn't mean it like that.'

'Everyone at school says Sherlock isn't normal,' Hamish pointed out.

'Well,' Bill sighed, 'He's not. He's special. So are you. I didn't mean that you weren't normal in a bad way, I meant...look, I'm making a real mess of this. Okay, let me start again. There are two types of people, the amazing people and the...the normal people. The people like me.'

'What about the people like Anderson?'

'Okay, there are three types of people. What I'm trying to say is that people like you, and your dad...and Bea and Mycroft....well, the rest of us just don't compare, and we spend our whole lives feeling like the stupidest person in the room,' he caught Hamish's expression, 'Which, okay, is usually true.'

He was rewarded with a small flash of a smile.

'So, selfishly, I thought it might be nice to have someone else in the flat that can't do long division or quantum physics in their heads. But,' he sighed, 'Chances are this baby is going to be as brilliant as you and I'll be the thicko house servant who is only here to wash your clothes and make the tea.'

'And will you still be my dad?'

Bill felt as if his heart was going to burst with the uncertainty in Hamish's voice.

'Of course I will. I'll always be your dad.'

'Even though you're not really? But this baby-'

'Hamish I am going to stop you right there,' it was rare that Bill raised his voice to Hamish, but he wasn't going to let Hamish get those words out, 'I am going to say something and I want you to look at me while I say it, because I know you can tell whether I'm telling the truth, and then, when I've said it, I want you to remember it.' he moved over knelt in from of Hamish, who still looked uncertain, 'I'm your dad. I always have been. It doesn't matter whose DNA you have....well, unless you get some weird disease and need a kidney or something because I'm pretty sure Sherlock's are screwed by this stage.'

Hamish was now smiling, although reluctantly, and shifting his weight from foot to foot.

'Unless you....you don't want me to be your dad?' it wasn't the first time Bill had thought about it, but it was the first time he had voiced it.

Hamish gave him a long and appraising look, and for a long, horrible moment he thought Hamish was going to say no. And so he resorted to playing to Hamish's particular weaknesses.

'Tell you what, you think about it, and while you're doing that why don't we go out and get some ice cream, just me and you, and we'll let Mr Sicky and the daemon spawn have a nap?'

The smile got wider, but there was a sly glint in Hamish's eye, 'Avacado sorbet?'

Bill rolled his eyes and stood up, 'Not a chance. I'm sentimental, not stupid. Now go and get your coat while I tell His Nibbs where we're going.'

 

#

In the bathroom Sherlock stared thoughtfully into space, trying to make sense of how he felt.


	53. Chapter 53

When Mycroft quite several of his duties and responsibilities one aspect he had initially looked forward to was the opportunity to take up his spot in the 'school run.'

While the shared nanny usually collected Beatrice and Hamish after school, and made whatever apologies were necessary after that days events, the morning drop off had always been shared between Sherlock, Bill and Gregory, and very occasionally, when her hip would allow and there was no other alternative, Mrs Hudson. Mycroft had always been secretly envious that his own schedule didn't allow him that experience. And he'd found himself eagerly anticipating being the one to deliver his beautiful daughter and his spirited nephew to school, to be able to show off his pride that these gifted children were his family.

And then it happened. And he changed his mind.

In that first week of doing the morning drop off Mycroft learned several things he had never known about his little family. Firstly was that neither Beatrice nor Hamish would be convinced to climb into Mycroft's car for the trip, instead demanding to walk.

'Dad says it helps us burn of energy,' Beatrice said with a serene smile.

Mycroft wasn't opposed to walking, it was only a twenty minute journey, and his bodyguard, a large Croatian former interrogator named Kovačić, was just twenty yards behind should he be needed.

'So,' he asked the neatly dressed children, 'How does this usually work?'

#

On the first day Mycroft learned that Sherlock liked to keep a running commentary of the people and place they passed and the children were most annoyed that Mycroft would not let them take the dead pigeon they passed to school to show everyone else.

He also learned that playground parents were a terrifying bunch of people.

On his entrance there was an almost immediate cessation of sound as all heads, almost all female, turned towards him. Mycroft had faced down assassins, torturers and the entire G20. But forty mothers scrutinising him across a playground was something his training had not prepared him for. He was suddenly glad he had chosen to go casual, donning the jumper Gregory had bought him at Christmas for the journey. It had vast become an item of comfort for him, and he was glad of it at that moment.

He steeled himself. If Gregory could do this, he could do this.

And then he heard, 'Oh, do you think that's Greg's bloke?'

He steadfastly refused to look where the voice was coming from, but he was aware of the gentle start of murmurs around him as he passed.

'That must be Mycroft. He's a bit of alright.'

Feeling his face colouring as he walked, and certain that Kovačić was laughing at him behind his back, Mycroft kept hold of the children's hands as his keen hearing couldn't help but pick up every comment about him, from his, lovely, dress sense, to his, very nice, legs, to the, I can see why Greg has kept him all to himself, and finally to the, I can see where Beatrice get's it from.

When he left the children at the door Beatrice stood on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek while Hamish rolled his eyes, and then the two of them disappeared into the building hand in hand and whispering quietly.

For reasons he wasn't quite sure of, Mycroft felt unsettled for the rest of the day.

 

#

 

On Tuesday Mycroft discovered that Bill liked to chase the children, who took off in opposite directions and shrieked like they were being abducted until Mycroft and Kovačić ran after them, waving their hands in the air and declaring what sort of dishes they were going to cook of out small child bones.

Kovačić was surprisingly inventive, which seemed to please Beatrice and Hamish no end.

 

#

On Wednesday Mycroft discovered that Mrs Hudson generally popped into the newsagent to pay for the papers and buy her scratchcards and a small treat for two good little children who wouldn't tell their parents that the next stop before school was to place a bet on the 3.30.

Which was how Mycroft found himself in a betting shop at 8am being shown by his four year daughter and five year old niece how to fill in a slip.

 

#

 

On Thursday morning they returned to collect their winnings, the children being very adamant about their share and how, no, it didn't count as pocket money thank you very much, it was legitimate earnings and as winning was not subject to the same tax laws.

Kovačić wasn't even trying to hide his laughter, but he'd had the presence of mind to nip next door and get both himself and Mycroft a very strong coffee before they continued their journey.

 

#

On Friday Mycroft discovered that all those times Gregory had left half an hour early was not, as he would let anyone else believe, to start an early shift, but instead so he and the kids could go to the bakery for a second breakfast before school. They were apparently regulars because the girls behind the counter cooed over Hamish's science homework and as Beatrice about her piano exam before inviting both children to the kitchen to 'pick the best.'  Kovačić had sat himself in a seat by the door and ordered a coffee, but Beatrice, not one for subtly, patted the spare seat at their table with a hand covered in icing sugar and called him over.

Kovačić and Mycroft shared a helpless look before the bodyguard shrugged and took his seat beside his little charge.

Afterwards the walk to school was slightly slower, and slightly stickier, but they still made it on time. Although both Hamish and Beatrice started to slow down considerably as they reached the gates. Beatrice was holding on to Kovačić's hand as if it was something she did every day, and for all Mycroft knew it might have been. This was a whole new world to him.

But one thing he DID know, was when those two children had something to hide.

'It's probably best you tell me now,' he said in grave tones.

Hamish and Beatrice shared a look before Hamish took a deep breath.

'It wasn't entirely our fault.'

'Honest.' Beatrice blinked her eyes and gave that little half smile that was so like Gregory's that Mycroft couldn't even be angry.

Behind them a bell rang. Hamish nodded a goodbye and, having spotted a teacher advancing was already making jerky head motions to get Beatrice to follow him into school. Beatrice jumped up and kissed Mycroft and then, much to Mycroft's surprise, because Beatrice was usually so reserved, especially compared to the whirlwind that was Hamish, hugged Kovačić, leaving powdery handprints on his immaculate suit.

'Bye, Strahimir.'

The two men watched them go and then Mycroft frowned, 'How did she know your name was Strahimir?'

 


	54. Chapter 54

John watched.

He watched as Sherlock laughed and danced and played his violin. He watched as his son, his son raced through the flat. Followed as he walked to school, hand in hand with a slender red haired girl that could only be Mycroft's. 

He watched, always from a distance, the life that should have been his.

#

Sherlock was frowning at the note taped to the fridge when Bill came into the kitchen.

'I don't think that's how you spell machete.'

'Yeah well, I think he got the point across.' Bill shrugged and reached for the kettle, 'This is what happens when you let Angelo babysit.'

'The glitter is a nice touch.'

'Hmm.'

Sherlock bit his lip and looked across at Bill, 'Have you resolved your issue?'

Bill huffed out a laugh and flicked the kettle on.

'He said I'll do.'

'High praise.'

Bill smiled and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, breathing in the scent of him, 'I think he might like me after all.'

''He's young, he doesn't know any better.'

'So what's your excuse?'

'Who said I liked you?'

'You were quite adamant you liked me last night.'

He could feel Sherlock smiling against his shoulder.

'That was last night.'

'Hmm. Well, we have three hours before Hamish gets home. Want me to remind you why you adore me?'

'Adore is a strong word.'

'Bet I can make you scream it.'

Bill was kissing Sherlock's neck as he spoke, his hands already undoing the buttons on Sherlock's shirt.

#

John Watson listened as Sherlock moaned another man's name, mentally picturing other hands running over the detective's pale body, taking what was his.

Enough.


	55. Chapter 55

John hadn't expected to see them. He had been walking through the park on his way home and caught a glimpse of a now familiar child running and screaming as a man behind him was trying to catch him, a grim look on his face.

'No! No!' the child yelled, and then 'Help!'

John didn't think twice before he bounded forward and caught the child, putting himself between the man and the boy and squaring off.

'Leave him alone!'

The man reeled back slightly, but glanced around John to the boy, who was edging out from behind him, eyes wide and slightly out of breath.

'Hamish, where is you dad? I said leave him alone!' John roared as the man reached for the boy again.

The small boy glanced up at the tall man beside him, who sighed.

'You're dad, where is he?'

'I'm not supposed to talk to strangers.'

'Hamish where is Sherlock?'

At this both the boy and man relaxed slightly.

'You're a friend of Sherlock's?' the man smiled at him, holding out his hand, 'Bill.'

John found himself shaking it, but still looking at the boy, unable to quite take his eyes off him.

'He's behind the cafe being sick,' the boy pointed.

'Which is what I told him would happen if he put six sugars in his tea.'

'No, you told him he'd get bloody diabetes and have to get his feet cut off. Then you said-'

'And yes, that's enough of that,' Bill frowned down at Hamish and then turned back to John, 'Sorry, I didn't catch your name...'

'Sorry, It's Jo-'

'John,' there was no mistaking that voice. That deep voice that he hadn't heard say his name for a long time.

If John had been paying attention he would have noticed the slight shift in Bill's stance, but he was looking at Sherlock, who was a little flushed and it was only that his huge coat was open that John noticed that the detective was very obviously, clearly pregnant.

Bill's hand had moved t ghost across Sherlock's side, and Sherlock looked up at him.

'Feeling better?'

'No,' Sherlock pouted, and to John he said, 'What are you doing?'

John shifted, 'I thought...well...'

'He thought Daddy was trying to abduct me,' Hamish said with a shrug, and then, 'Don't feel bad though, it happens a lot.'

'Yes, it happens when you shout help and tell people I'm trying to abduct you,' Bill said, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. His hand still hadn't moved from Sherlock's side. John recognised it for what it was, possessive. A warning.

But that word. The casual, easy way  _his_ son had called this stranger 'Daddy'...John struggled to breathe, wanting to strike out at the other man and yell that he had no right to be called that. But the man was already steering Sherlock away.

'We should get you home for a rest. It was nice to meet you, James was it?'

'John,' he whispered.

The man nodded and then they were gone, turned away down the path, his hand on the small of Sherlock's back and the child bouncing alongside them.

'Who was that?' he asked loudly.

There was a pause and John strained to hear what Sherlock said.

'No one.'

 

#

 

Bill was quiet during dinner, content to let Hamish ramble on about school. Sherlock watched him as he stacked the plates in the sink, his shoulders tense. When Sherlock came back down from settling Hamish into bed, he found Bill tidying up some of Hamish's scattered toys. He paused in the doorway, watching Bill's slow movements, knowing that although he had his back to Sherlock, Bill knew he was there.

'He looks like him,' Bill said eventually.

'Yes.'

'I didn't realise...I only saw him once, for a second when...when he was here. But I never...' Bill set down the books he had gathered in a neat pile on the table, 'Are you okay?'

He still hadn't turned around.

'I...don't know.'

'I know he's not supposed to come near so should we call Greg or something?'

'If you think that's necessary,' Sherlock bit his lip a little bit too hard.

Only then did Bill finally turn to look at him.

'Tell me what I'm supposed to do? What do you need me to do?'

'I need you to help me get my shoes and socks off because I can't reach my feet anymore.'

There was silence in the flat for a long time and Sherlock thought for a moment that he had gone too far. He braced himself for Bill to shout, only realising that's what John would have done. Instead Bill smiled and shook his head, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Sherlock.

'I'm being stupid, aren't I?'

'I do tell you often enough, but clearly it's only now sinking in.'

Bill pressed a kiss to Sherlock's temple and sighed, 'Alright Fatman, let's get you undressed.'

'Charming. You must be a real hit with the ladies.'

'Do you want to live in those shoes?'

Sherlock smirked up at him and let Bill steer him to towards the bedroom, unaware of the figure watching the lights go out in the flat.


	56. Chapter 56

For once Greg Lestrade was glad that he was on the night shift. It wasn't that he wanted to avoid Mycroft, but...well he didn't know what to say, and frankly he couldn't look at Mycroft and watch the disappointment on his face again. So he'd waited for two full weeks, knowing that Mycroft was counting, for a day when their paths wouldn't cross. Mycroft was in Sweden and would be home long after Greg started his shift. 

Greg had simply left the negative test on the bathroom sink for Mycroft to find.

He wasn't sure how he felt about it. He'd kept his contraceptive injections up to date, and they hadn't talked about another baby for a while, they had been too busy trying to get their relationship back on track. And if anyone had have asked him he'd have said that he didn't want another one, a fact he had been growing more sure of by the day.

But then there had been that little moment of 'maybe' and it had hit him like a blow to the chest. Suddenly he wasn't sure at all anymore. And although he had been praying for only one line, when that's what he got the wave of sadness and guilt almost overwhelmed him.

The only thing he knew was that he didn't want to talk about it. And he was once again grateful for Mycroft, who didn't need the conversation to understand.

Greg, however, needed a few hours to work through how he felt and compose himself. He was trudging back to his office, a stack of files under one arm and a coffee in his other hand when he saw a very unwanted figure waiting outside his door.

'You shouldn't be here.'

John looked, for want of a better word, like shit.

'Greg, please, just...just a minute.'

'Look, I really don't have time for this, and I told you before that this isn't a good idea.'

'Please?'

Despite his better judgement, and maybe because he was so tired, Greg sighed and nodded towards the door, following John in.

Both men stopped at the sight of the huge arrangement of roses that had been left on Greg's desk which certainly hadn't been there fifteen minutes ago when he'd gone to collect his paperwork. Greg but his lip to try and contain his reaction, but John huffed out a cold laugh.

'Lover's tiff?'

'No,' Greg's voice was quiet, and he wished John wasn't there so he could have a moment to himself. Instead he mentally shrugged, dumped the files on his desk and turned to John, 'So, what is it?'

'Sherlock.'

Greg held up his hand, 'No. I told you, we aren't-'

'I met him yesterday.'

'Do I have to remind you there's a restraining order against you?'

'That's partly why I came to explain,' John looked to the side so he wouldn't have to look at Greg, 'It was an accident. I was in the park and I saw Ham...Ham...he was being chased by a man and he was screaming for help, so I stepped in. It...didn't go well.'

'Tall, lanky, looks like he shouldn't be allowed to cross a road by himself?' Greg knew he was being unfair to Bill, but if had learned nothing from his time spent with the Holmes boys it was that you should always let others underestimate.

John nodded, 'Called himself Bill. It was just a misunderstanding, and then of course Sherlock showed up and....fuck it, Greg. Who is he?'

Greg took a long moment before he answered, 'It doesn't matter who he is.'

'My son called him 'Daddy'!'

'He isn't your son, John.'

'He is MY flesh and blood.'

'That doesn't make him your son.'

This time John did make eye contact and he seemed to deflate at the pity that he clearly saw in Greg's face.

'Who is he?'

'Go home John, and forget about it.'

'We are supposed to be friends!'

'Once, yeah. But...I'm sorry. I just can't, not anymore.Too much has changed and you seem to be the only one who doesn't realise that.'

'But-'

'Go home, John, before you end up in a cell for the night.'

John's expression darkened and his lip twisted then.

'You've become just like Mycroft Fucking Holmes, do you know that?'

At the mention of Mycroft something steeled inside Greg and he straightened, 'I hope so.'

John looked like he wanted to spit or punch him, but instead he turned and left, slamming the door behind him so hard the glass cracked.

Greg watched him walk across the open office and then picked up his phone, calling down to DI Gregson, even though he had no jurisdiction to do so, but knowing that his request would be approved immediately and with no paperwork. It was the first time he had ever abused the power that his relationship with Mycroft brought him, but the only alternative was calling Mycroft himself, and he wanted to spare the other man extra worry or upset, just for tonight.

'Tobi, I need a tail on someone.'

'When?'

'Now, if you have the staff.'

'Not really Greg, we're-'

'It's special circumstances.'

There was a pause as Tobi, too smart a woman to be a police officer, considered this. And then, because she knew what those words meant, and partly to save face for both of them she sighed, 'Fine, since you're a mate I'll do it myself, as a one off, mind! What do you need?'

'Everything, full phone history, emails, work schedules, appointments, medical treatment, legal issues, CCTV, anything. I want to know exactly what he has been doing and when and where.'

'We'll need a court order for that and-'

'Trust me, you'll have it within the hour.' Greg was both unsettled and thrilled by how it felt to wield such immense power, and he wondered, for a split second, if this was how Mycroft felt every day. If so, it raised a lot more questions about what he saw in Greg to begin with, 'Don't wait, just get started. And don't worry, there will be no fall back for any of your team over this.'

'....Okay. How far back?' Tobi asked.

Greg paused and then, hoping he was wrong, that he was overreacting, 'Five years.'

Tobi whistled through her teeth and then called over her shoulder to someone in the same room as her, 'Bunsen? Jones? You up for a challenge?' there was a muffled reply and then Tobi was speaking to him again, 'We can have it sometime tomorrow. You need him tailed too though?'

'Yes. And you need to be armed.'

'Shit. Why?'

'Because he'll be.'

He could hear Tobi clicking her pen as she processed all of this, 'Alright, I have a really horrible feeling about this, Greg. And I really don't want to ask, but...who?'

'John Watson.'

Like every other officer in the Met, Tobi Gregson had met, and occassionally worked with John back when he was Sherlock's partner. There was silence on the other end of the line.

'I...take it this is strictly confidential?'

'Every word.'

'Right,' Tobi Gregson sighed again, 'Shit.'

 


	57. Chapter 57

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Very short chapter because the shit is about to hit the fan

'I just don't understand why you haven't had someone watching him, Myc.'

Mycroft sighed as he listened to his husband rant on the other end of the phone line, 'I can assure you that I have. However...'

'However what?'

'Dr Watson clearly learned a considerable amount from my brother when it came to avoiding detection.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'It means that there have been moments where he has simply vanished from view.'

'What?' Greg shouted, causing Mycroft to wince, 'After everything that happened you let him just fucking disappear?'

'We had Sherlock under watch at the time, so those moments were considered to be unlikely threats.'

There was silence for a long time and then Greg sighed, 'This really makes me question your decision making skills, Myc.'

'I can have Dr Watson put under-'

'He walked right up to them yesterday. Got within a foot of Hamish. Did you know that?'

Mycroft pressed his lips into a thin line, and mentally cursed his brother, 'No. No I did not. I would expect nothing less from Sherlock, but-'

'Yeah, well I'll be having words with Bill over this too,' there was the sound of Greg sighing again, 'I've got someone following John right now, do you want to use one of your guys instead?'

'I think that would be for the best,' Mycroft was already typing a summoning email as he spoke.

'And I hope you don't mind, but I sort of abused all my non-existent power to skip some official steps,' Greg actually sounded embarrassed about that and Mycroft couldn't help but smile.

'I would be most disappointed if you didn't, my dear.'

There was a soft knock at the door announcing Mycroft's team had arrived and he let out a disappointed breath, he would have liked a few more moments to speak to Gregory, even if they were talking about something as unsavoury as John Watson.

'I'm afraid I must go. But I trust I shall see you at home?' 

There was the heavy weight of unspoken words between them.

'Of course,' Greg said, and then, very softly, 'Thank you for the flowers.'

 

 


	58. Chapter 58

Sherlock stretched lazily without once taking his eyes off his microscope. Bill wasn't due home yet, and Greg was collecting Hamish from school, so Sherlock was making the most of having the flat to himself.

He'd been more thrown than he wanted to admit by the encounter with John, and he had struggled to act normally in front of Hamish. Bill hadn't said anything else about it, but it was clear that it was playing on his mind too.

The issue was that Sherlock was struggling with how he felt about it. On one hand any feelings had for John were well and truly gone now, but he still couldn't bring himself to be angry because if it wasn't for John he wouldn't have Hamish. And if it wasn't for Hamish he might never have met Bill.

He thought about this as he stared down at the slide. That time after John had felt like the worst time in his life, but it had brought him all the good things in it.

Suddenly he wanted nothing more than to have Bill home again, to be able to lean against him and breathe in his smell and feel safe. Hating himself for being so sentimantal, Sherlock stood and slowly moved through to the bedroom where he retried Bill's robe from the back of the door, pulling it on over his pyjamas. He was hit immediately by the scent of the shampoo Bill used and he indulged for a moment breathing deeply into the fabric, grateful that there was no one to see him do it.

And then there were footsteps on the stairs and Sherlock smiled, coming back out of the bedroom, pushing the sleeves up slightly to greet his partner.

It wasn't Bill. Instead, standing inside the open doorway was the one person he never wanted to see again.

'John.'


	59. Chapter 59

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill has had enough

Tobi Gregson called Greg as he was walking back with Hamish and Bea.

'John Watson is at Baker Street,' she said without preamble, 'Jones is there, he's waiting for back up'

Greg started to run.

#

'You shouldn't be here.'

'Sherlock, please.'

Sherlock moved behind the table, conscious that he couldn't out maneuver John.

'You have to leave. I don't want you here.'

'This is the only home I've known,' John said quietly, moving towards Sherlock, 'And it's all I can think of. I shouldn't have move out, I shouldn't have left you. But it's not too late, is it?'

'It is.' Sherlock swallowed.

'Is this about you pregnancy?' John had advanced so close he could have reached out and touched Sherlock, 'That doesn't matter. We can fix that.'

'...fix it?'

'Yeah,' John smiled at him, mistaking his horror as encouragement, 'And then it can be me and you again. Me you and...Hamish.'

'No.'

'It's how it should be, you know that. Please, Sherlock!' and then John was in front of him, Sherlock's wrist caught tightly in his hand.

'No.'

'You don't want this baby. You don't want that...man. It's supposed to be me and you. We can...we can deal with it today and we'll be back to crime scenes in a couple of weeks. It can be just like it was.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest again, but there was the sound of the downstairs door opening and Bill's cheerful voice drifting up the stairs.

'I had to go to three different shops to get the yoghurt you wanted so you had bettter already be naked!'

'Just tell him, tell him to leave and we can-'

No,' Sherlock jerked back trying to pull his wrist away from John's vice like grasp, 'Go away.'

'Sherlock, he's my son, you can't keep him from me!' John wasn't smiling now, his jaw was tight and his eyes narrowed. Sherlock pulled away again and over balanced, hitting the wall behind him hard.

'What's going on?' Bill appeared in the doorway, a paper bag in one hand.

'I want to see my son,' John stared up at him, squaring off. Bill just blinked down at him calmly.

'You don't have a son.'

'Hamish is MY son and you have no right. It's disgusting what you're doing, playing happy families, making my child call you daddy. Do you get off on that?'

Bill set the bag down on the sofa and advanced towards John.

'Get out of my house.'

'This isn't yours, it's mine. Sherlock is mine. Hamish is mine.'

'I think they can decide for themselves. But let me tell you something, as a friend, you might have provided a shot of sperm, but you're not a father. I'm the one who walked the floor with him night after night. I'm the one who goes to parents night and plays and hospital appointments. I'm the one he calls daddy, not you, so don't you ever reffer to yourself that way when talking about my son again.'

'Because you've manipulated him into thinking what you are doing is normal. If he knew about me-'

'Oh, knows. Because you see, we don't lie to him. He knows exactly what you and exactly what happened last time you were in this room, and I tell you know, you will never again try to take my child.'

'He's my chi-'

'You took him from Sherlock's arms!' Bill shouted, looming over John now, 'And speaking of Sherlock, if he wants you then I won't stand in his way because I would never do anything to make him unhappy. But you take a good look at him right now. That's  _my_ baby he's carrying. My robe he's wearing. I'm the one he allows to sleep beside him at him and it's my ring he's wearing, and it's my flat you are standing in scaring him. So you are going to leave, and I promise, if you  _ever_ come back here, ever approach any of  _my_ family again, then I swear to God that even Mycroft wouldn't be able to find all the pieces of you.'

John glanced once more towards Sherlock, who blinked slowly struggling for breath, 'Just go John.'

John sighed and then pushed past Bill, 'This isn't over.'

'Yes it is,' Bill snarled right in his ear as he passed, but then Bill was moving towards Sherlock, concern in his eyes, 'Are you okay?'

Sherlock nodded, his head feeling too heavy, a sharp pain coursing up from his neck. He reached behind him, pulling away bloody fingers. Bill's eyes narrowed and he took one look at the blood from Sherlock's head and the already purple bruise on his wrist and he was flying down the stairs.

John had just opened the front door when Bill caught him by the shoulder, swinging him around with enough force to unbalance him. Sherlock reached the top of the stairs in time to see Bill's first punch land heavily across the side of John's head. And then another, and another, and through the confusion and John's shouts he could hear Bill.

'You will never lay a hand on him again!'

John went silent but Bill kept hitting him. There was a scream as Mrs Hudson came out to see what the shouting was about, and then hands were pulling at Bill, physically lifting him off the bloody mess that was John. And the hall was full of police and black clad body guards, checking on John and restraining Bill.

And in the open doorway Hamish and Beatrice watched it all.


	60. Chapter 60

The only reason Bill wasn't still in handcuffs by the time he arrived at the hospital was the arrival of Mycroft Holmes, which made it clear to the two attending officers that he would take it as a very personal insult.

They still hovered nearby as Mycroft paced the corridor making call after call. He kept glancing down at Bill, who was sitting on a plast chair, head bowed and hands shaking. Mycroft wanted to say something, but drew a blank. He was aware that he was not the most empathic man, Gregory was always so much better at these things than he was. So it was with great relief that he saw the policeman arrive.

'Well?' he tipped his head close to Mycroft so no one else could hear.

'Sherlock got two staples in his head. He has a mild concussion so they are keeping him...'

Gregory picked up on the pause immediately, 'And?'

Mycroft steered him further away from Bill and spoke in a voice that was barely a whisper.

'He started having contractions when they first brought him in, but that's stopped.'

'Jesus.'

'Indeed. Dr Watson is-'

'I don't really give a shit about him to be honest, Myc!' Gregory nodded down the hall to the pale midwife, 'How's Bill?'

Mycroft pursed his lips, 'Refusing to speak or be treated. Perhaps you could encourage him?'

Gregory nodded and made his way down the corridor.

#

'Bill, mate?'

Bill looked up, blinking red rimmed eyes at the DI and looked anxious.

'Where's Hamish?'

'It's okay, he's with Kovačić and Anthea.'

'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

Greg sat down beside him, 'It's done now.'

'Are they okay?' Bill was clearly trying not to cry.

'They won't talk to us, but I heard them whispering to each other about it before I came here. I reckon they'll be okay. Our kids aren't like other kids.'

'He wanted to take Hamish away,' Bill whispered.

'I know. But that will never happen.'

'What if he dies?'

Greg sighed, that was really the question, wasn't it.

'That depends. Mycroft is doing everything he can.'

'I'll lose them anyway, won't I?'

'I don't know.'

They fell into silence for a long time and Greg took in Bill's appearance, trying not to wince at how much blood covered the man's clothes and hands. His right hand was a mess of blood and bruising and badly swollen, but Bill didn't seem to notice.

'I wanted to kill him,' he whispered, sounding shocked at his own words.

Greg shifted uncomfortably in his seat, 'Probably best not to say that out loud right now.'

'If you hadn't pulled me off...I don't think I would have stopped.'

The words stabbed at Greg's heart because he knew, even though he would never voice it, that if it had been Mycroft and Beatrice, he'd have done exactly the same thing. He'd been thinking about that a lot of the last couple of hours, and he wasn't sure how he felt about that dark part of him that would allow him to cast away all his morals, no matter the reasons. He was finding it difficult to consider that when he spent his life trying to do the right thing.

At this moment Mycroft approached them, his phone still in his hand despite the disapproving looks he got from a passing doctor.

'I thought you might like to know that Dr Watson is out of surgery.'

It was heartbreaking to see the fear in his eyes as Bill blinked up at Mycroft, waiting for him to go on.

'He suffered a fractured skull, and a broken cheek bone wich required a metal plate, broken jaw and severe damage to his left eye which will likely result in permanent vision problems.'

'He's alive?'

Mycroft looked down before speaking, 'So far. They are trying to keep the swelling in his brain down, but they won't know much more until he wakes up.'

No one said 'if' because they didn't need to.

'Also,' Mycroft paused, glancing at Greg for a split second before returning his gaze to Bill, 'Sherlock has been asking for you.'

At this Bill started crying again, 'I can't.'

Greg put his hand on Bill's shoulder, 'I think you should.'

#

Sherlock was laying on his side to take the pressure of the staples in his head, but he shifted upright when he realised Bill was at the door, and Bill was thankful for the medication Sherlock was on that seemed to dull his shock at seeing the state of Bill's appearance.

'How are you?' Bill choked out.

'Spectacular,' Sherlock rolled his eyes.

'I'm sorry.'

'How nice for you.'

Bill swallowed before taking a shaky breath, 'I'll have my stuff out tomorrow.'

At this Sherlock was suddenly more alert.

'What stuff?'

'My things...I....I know you won't want....I'm sorry.'

Sherlock just stared at him in that way of his, clearly reading everything in Bill's expression and stance. Then his eyes narrowed.

'You are going to walk out and leave me like this?' Sherlock's voice was low and dangerous.

'Well you're not going to want me around now, are you? Sherlock, I nearly killed him.....I have never, never hit anyone. Never once in my entire life. But...when I saw that he'd hurt you...the things he said...I just....I'm sorry. I am sorry...' and Bill broke down sobbing.

Sherlock watched him for a long time, letting Bill cry it out until the sobs reduced to gasps.

'If I told you I once shot a man in the face at point blank range would you leave me?' 

Bill lifted his head and frowed at Sherlock, 'That's not funny. It's not even the same-'

'Because I did.' Sherlock's voice was so quiet that Bill wasn't entire sure he'd heard him.

'What?'

'Charles Magnussen. I assume you saw it or read about it. Most people. It wasn't a stray sniper, it was me.' Sherlock kept those strange eyes of his focused on Bill's, the intensity in them scaring Bill slightly, 'They doctored the footage, but I assure you, it was me. Ask Mycroft, he was there. I put an American agent into a coma because he made Mrs Husdon cry. And I killed five men because they were about to kill...well, a prostitute I suppose, although she prefers other terms. That's not all, when I was...away, there were others, mostly...men you could describe as evil if you believed in the term.'

He said it so matter of factly that Bill wasn't sure whether it was true or not, but that look in Sherlock's eyes told him that the other man was, for want of a better term, deadly serious.

'You...?'

'Hmm. Yes.' Sherlock shifted his position until he was sitting completely upright, and Bill felt like he was being interrogated, 'So, knowing all of that, do you think I shouldn't have Hamish, or this baby...or you?'

Bill had no words at all for the revelation that Sherlock had just delivered and he stood stock still, his heart hammering in his chest.

Sherlock took a deep breath and his face softened, 'So, after all I have done, why would you think I would want you to leave?'

He seemed to slump slightly, clearly exhausted.

'Perhaps you should get your hand seen to,' Sherlock sighed, then he waved his own hand in partial dismissal, 'And...oh...talk to Mycroft. And then....' Sherlock looked unsure, 'And then perhaps...perhaps we can talk...if you want to...'

In truth Bill didn't know what he wanted any more.

#

Greg looked up as Bill came out of Sherlock's room looking slightly dazed, but walking directly up to Mycroft, taking the politician's phone out of his hand and looking him square in the eye.

'How many people has Sherlock killed?'

Mycroft looked slightly impressed with Bill's directness and held his gaze, but it was Greg he spoke to.

'Gregory, what's the number up to now?'

Greg sighed, really not wanting to have this conversation and very unsure of where it was going to go.

'Eleven. The ones we know about.'

'He's a serial killer?'

'Jesus,' Greg raked his hand through his hair.

'In so much as anyone who kills for their country or their friends is a serial killer, I suppose,' Mycroft sighed.

'Almost six years and no one mentioned this?' Bill was struggling to breathe.

'You already knew the sort of man he was,' Mycroft said, his voice surprisingly soft, and Greg marveled yet again at how effectively Mycroft could keep the situation calm, 'Would it have made a difference?'

Bill was swaying slighty where he stood, and there were tears in his eyes again. Greg got up and led him to a seat before he fell. Then he shared a look at worry with his husband. This was turning into one shitstorm of a day.


	61. Chapter 61

Bill's friend and old flatmate Brian turned up with some spare clothes and a massive bag of takeaway which no one was really in the mood to eat. He insisted on being the one who sat with Bill while his hand was x-rayed and stitched.

'No offence,' the small man squirmed slightly under Mycroft's stare, 'But we've been best mates since school and it might be best if he was able to talk to someone who wasn't so involved....'

Even Mycroft had to accept that was probably right, so he nodded his approval. But even he couldn't stop the two police officers assigned to watch over Bill from following the two men down to x-ray.

Greg and Mycroft studiously avoided looking at each other until eventually Greg couldn't bear it any more.

'What's going to happen to him?'

Mycroft considered his response for a long time before answering, 'That all depends really.'

'That's not very helpful, Myc.'

At this Mycroft turned towards his husband and the signs of distress and exhaustion were clear on his face, 'I'm aware.'

'Has anyone called Bill's dad?'

Mycroft nodded, 'He's on his way. As is Mummy.'

'Oh Christ!'

'Gregory!'

Greg was unapologetic, 'You know your mother is only going to make this worse!'

'I could hardly tell her not to come!'

Aware that their raised voices were drawing attention, Greg bit his lip and recomposing himself before starting again, 'You know how she stirs things up...especially with Sherlock. That's not really what he needs right now, is it?'

'What did you want me to do Gregory?' Mycroft challenged, 'What would you do if this happened to anyone else while you were on duty?'

'That's not fair!'

'I didn't say it was fair, I asked what you would do.'

Greg thought about all the people he had arrested and processed over the years. He thought about the people who had honest to god acted in self defence who he still had to arrest. He thought about all the people who he'd had to taken to hospital in handcuffs for treatment. All the addicts and sex workers and battered spouses who one day just had  _enough._ He thought about all the good Samaritans who had stepped in and defended someone and ended up slapped with a sentence and record. And then he thought about Sherlock, hurt and confused and heavily pregnant laying in a hospital bed, and he thought about Bill, mild mannered and care free, with blood on his hands and unable to stop crying.

 And then he thought about the man standing opposite him, and thought about his young daughter at home and that dark voice reared it's head again.

_You would do the same thing._

And because it was Mycroft who was asking, and Mycroft who was watching the response, he couldn't hide any of it. Even so, he was surprised by the hand that closed over his arm.

'Me too,' the politician said quietly.

#

Sherlock pretended to be asleep so he didn't have to talk to his parents. His mother fussed with his blankets and bombarded the nurses with a million banal questions while his father loitered in the background somewhat lost as to what to do.

At some point there was a knock followed by the voice of Bill's father.

'How is he?'

'He should be perfectly fine,' his mother's frosty voice responded, 'No thanks to your son.'

'Bill...Bill didn't do this?'

Sherlock was about to sit up and answer when his father finally spoke.

'By all accounts your Bill is the hero today.'

'Hero?' his wife responded.

'He defended Sherlock. And YES,' he spoke over his wife as she tried to speak, 'It might not have ended how we all wanted, but we have two sons who are alive and who will be fine.'

'Will they?' Mrs Holmes demanded then, 'Do you really think they will be fine after this?'

Sherlock held his breath and wished they would all leave so he could go back to pretending that none of it was happening and that he was back home in his own bed.

And more than that he wanted the warm, secure weight of Bill wrapped around him, breathing against his shoulder as he slept, his arm draped heavily around Sherlock. Protective. Safe.

'And the...the baby?'

'Fine so far,' Sherlock's mother snapped.

There was a pause and he could just imagine the three people staring each other out.

'Do...do you know where Bill is? They, um, they wouldn't tell me at the desk...'

'No!'

'But Mycroft will know, I'm sure,' Sherlock's father spoke with more authority than he'd ever heard from him, 'Violet, why don't you take Richard here to Mycroft? He's more likely to listen to you.'

Sherlock would have smirked at his father's manipulation if it wouldn't have given his game away.

With a huff of breath, but knowing she had no reason not to, Violet Holmes stomped out of the room, Richard Murray's footsteps following a second later.

In the silence they left behind there was only the soft 'pfft pfft' of the IV line and the hum of the overhead lights. And then the creak of weight in the chair by teh bed.

'When you were little you used to pretend to fall asleep on the rug so you could listen in to the adults talking,' Siger Holmes said softly, 'Your mother never noticed, but I did....and you haven't gotten any better at it since.'

Reluctantly Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at his father, who leaned in close to him and spoke in a low voice.

'It's going to be okay' he said, 'Mycroft will fix it. He fixes every thing.'

As the baby shifted slightly Sherlock thought of the way Bill had looked at him after his confession and he wasn't sure anything would ever be okay again.

 


	62. Chapter 62

When Greg's mobile rang and the display said 'Home' he answered quickly.

'What's wrong?'

'...nothing,' came Beatrice's voice.

Greg, suspicious, but still relieved, smiled, 'Hello sweetheart, does Anthea know you are using the phone?'

'Ummm...'

'It's okay, I won't tell her.'

There was a pause on the end of the line before Beatrice spoke again, but Greg could make out a hushed whisper that told him Hamish was hovering close by, as always.

'Is Uncle Sherlock okay?'

'Yeah, sweetheart, he is. They are just going to keep him in overnight to keep an eye on him.'

Bea related this to Hamish and more frantic whispering occurred.

'And is Uncle Bill going to go to prison?'

'Bill's here with me.'

'That's not what I asked.'

It occurred to Greg, and not for the first time, that Beatrice was like Mycroft in more than her looks.

'You're father is doing everything he can to make sure that doesn't happen.'

There was audible relief on the end of the line.

'That's okay then. Father can do anything.'

Oh to be young and so confident. But then...even Greg himself often believed that Mycroft could do anything. The fact that Mycroft never said it, or boasted about it, but just moved through life with a quiet confidence was one of the things that Greg loved about him.

'Why are you two still awake? It's after midnight.'

'It is?' Bea feigned surprise.

Greg laughed quietly, not wanting to encourage his daughter.

'Listen, I know you guys saw a lot today-'

'We don;'t want to talk about it yet.' Bea snapped, and in the background he could clearly hear Hamish sighing and muttering, 'Bloody adults.'

'Okay sweetheart, and you can tell Hamish I heard that.'

Bea promptly told Hamish who said something Greg decided to ignore and then she was back on the phone.

'When are you coming home?'

'Probably not until tomorrow. I'll call school and tell them you are having the day off-'

'No! We have to go in because-'

'Shhhhh!' Hamish hissed.

Greg felt a sense of dread in his stomach, 'Do I even want to know?'

'Know what?' Bea's voice was light, which did nothign to quell the sense of dread.

There were the sounds of a minor scuffle and the next voice he heard was Hamish.

'Can I talk to daddy?'

'He...he's down in x ray right now, Hamish.'

'Or Sherlock?' the small boy was doing his best to sound brave.

'I...yeah, hang on and I'll see if he's awake.'

Greg walked across to Sherlock's room and knocked softly on the door. Sherlock was awake, staring into space and looked surprised when Greg offered him the phone.

'It's Hamish.'

Sherlock snatched the phone out of Greg's hand.

'Hamish?'

Greg backed out of the room, leaving them too it. An hour later when he looked in, Sherlock was still on the phone, talking quietly in a language Greg didn't know, but even he could understand the love and affection in Sherlock's voice.

In the corridor stood the small figure of Tobi Gregson with an armful of papers and a grave expression.

'Tobi?'

She nodded curtly, 'I would have emailed it, but....' and she held out the papers to him, 'I thought you'd want to see it as soon as possible.'

 


	63. Chapter 63

'Bill?' Greg leaned forward and caught the panic in Bill's eyes just in time, thrusting a bag towards him just as Bill started heaving.

Mycroft glanced across and then started to tidy away the photographs.

Greg didn't look at them. It was enough to have seen them once. Bill had palmed them out, spreading them across the desk, his hands shaking as he examined them.

'You don't need to do this-'

'YES I DO!'

There was silence then as he looked at each picture, taken from John Watson's phone. Pictures of Bill and Sherlock. Of Bill on his knees, taking Sherlock into his mouth. Of Sherlock bracing himself against the table as Bill thrust into him. Of Sherlock asleep, his head on Bill's shoulder.

Personal. Intimate.

'Bill?'

'You don't tell Sherlock about this.'

Greg shot a look towards Mycroft, but all Mycroft was doing was nodding.

'Of course.'

There was silence then as the three men each tried to come up with their own understanding.

'If...if I'd known....' Greg said slowly, his gaze firmly fixed on the table between them, 'I wouldn't have pulled you off him.'

There was a soft intake of breath that could only have come from Mycroft and then Bill was on his feet and heading to the door.

'William?' Mycroft stood.

'Not now, Mycroft. I need to be with Sherlock.'

#

'I love you.'

Sherlock lifted his head to look up at Bill who was huddled in the doorway.

'Bill-'

'I love you,' the midwife repeated, 'I love you and I love Hamish and I would do anything....anything ....I....would never hurt you.'

'I know.'

Bill crossed the floor before falling to his knees at the side of Sherlock's bed.

'I would never do anything to hurt you.'

With a start Sherlock realised Bill was crying, his forehead resting against Sherlock's arm. Sherlock reached out with his free hand, but before he could lay it on Bill, the other man was talking again.

'I would never hit you....ever. You know that, right? I'm not....I'm not like him. I wouldn't...I...'

Sherlock threaded his fingers though Bill's sandy hair, 'I know.'

And then Bill was sobbing his slender frame rocking as he cried, his words inaudible through his tears. Sherlock let his fingers run through Bill's hair, and then down his cheek, wet with tears, until he could tip his chin and force the other man to look at him.

'I love you,' he whispered.

Bill blinked slowly and, fearing he'd made a mistake, Sherlock tried to pull his hand away. But Bill's finger tightened around it.

'Six years, Sherlock.'

'What?'

'That's how long I've been waiting to hear you say that.'

'I thought it was obvious.'

Bill laughed and pulled Sherlock's hand to his mouth, gently kissing his knuckles.

'Say it again.'

Sherlock blinked innocently, 'Say what?'

Outside Mycroft sighed with relief at the sound of laughter from insider Sherlock's room. As he looked up he spotted Gregory, who was coming back with two cardboard carriers of coffee. Without pausing Mycroft walked up to him, took the carriers from his hands and kissed him.

'Mycroft?'

The politican bit his lip and then took a deep breath, 'I want to give him a name.'


	64. Chapter 64

Greg climbed the stairs slowly, stopping when he saw Mycroft standing outside Beatrice's room.

'We should just put another bed in here,' Mycroft said without turning around.

Stepping up behind him Greg smiled at what he saw. Despite having a room of his own across the hall, Hamish tended to sneak across to share with Bea. At that moment he was curled in a small ball at one end of the bed, Bea was doing her best starfish impression at the other, looking impossibly young in her pyjamas.

'She looks more like you every day,' Greg said quietly.

'Fortunately she got your nose.'

'I like your nose.'

'You old romantic.'

'Less of the old, thank you very much.' Greg kissed the back of Mycroft's neck and sighed, 'We need to talk, don't we?'

#

'We didn't really get a chance to talk before...' waited until Mycroft sat down opposite him, pushing a glass of wine across the table towards him.

'I know.'

'It doesn't matter now,' Greg said, 'But...I knew you were counting and...and I was late and even though I'm still having the injections I thought...maybe.'

'I know.'

'I didn't want to disappoint you again.'

There was silence in the room that was only broken by Mycroft's choked breath, 'You haven't disappointed me.'

'Myc, you know what I -'

Greg was stopped by Mycroft's hands on his shoulders as the politician knelt in front of him.

'I am a selfish man,' Mycroft said slowly, 'But I meant every word I said to you the day I asked you to marry me. Before you there was nothing. I had nothing. And then suddenly there was you, and you...you changed everything. You gave me Beatrice. I sleep with your arm around me and I look forward to coming home now.'

'You want another baby-'

'I want you. I want you to smile at me and I want you laugh with and I want you to hold my hand when it's been a bad day.'

'Mycroft.....'

'I'm a selfish man. You gave me everything. You made my life better and the better you made it the more I wanted.' Mycroft dropped his gaze to the floor, 'I've been waiting for you to leave me since the first day.'

'Myc-'

'So I took everything I could get. Because I wanted it all for the moment you left me. I wanted to be able to...spread it out for the rest of my life,' Greg started to speak, but Mycroft shook his head, still holding Greg, but still looking at the floor, 'You were the first...the only person to ever love me. And I don't know why. And I'm terrified of the moment you realise I'm not good enough for you.'

It was then that Greg realised Mycroft was crying, and he pushed back from the table, dropping to his knees beside his husband.

'One day,' he said quietly, 'You will realise that I'm just a washed up policeman with nothing to offer you.'

'Gregory-'

'Nothing,' Greg spoke over Mycroft's outrage, 'Except me. Just me. I don't have money. I'm not smart, not like you are. I don't have any power, I don't control armies or the government. I don't have anything to to offer you. Just me. That's it. All I can offer you is me. And every day I was scared that it wasn't enough. Every month, every negative test I could see how it hurt you and I was terrified that you would decide I wasn't good enough. I wasn't giving you what you wanted.'

Mycroft released his hold on Greg's arms to softly stroke the side of his face, not fully trusting himself to speak yet.

'If...' Greg said slowly, 'If it doesn't happen. If we never have another baby. If...if it's just us and Bea I...I need to know that's enough for you.'

Mycroft leaned forward and pulled Greg towards him, 'You have given me more than I ever deserved or could ever imagine. You, you and Beatrice are my entire world. I didn't have anything before you came into the my life. And I wouldn't have anything if you ever left it.'

'I'm not going to leave it.'

'Promise?'

Greg nodded and leaned against Mycroft, 'Can we get up off the floor now?'

Mycroft smiled and nodded, but didn't let go of Greg, 'In a moment.'

'Myc?'

'Hmm?'

'Can we do it tomorrow? ...give....give him a name?'

Mycroft nodded, 'Yes.'

'We should have done it when he was born.'

'We should have done a lot of things,' Mycroft said and was surprised when Greg pressed a kiss against his temple.

'I love you, Mycroft.'

'I..'

'I just want you to remember that.'


	65. Chapter 65

It was with great trepidation that Bill knocked on the front door of 221. When Mrs Hudson opened it she sighed and shook her head at him.

'Did you forget your key, dear?'

She stood back to let him in, but Bill hesitated until the landlady clicked her tongue impatiently and then he sidled in past her, not meeting her eye.

'Sherlock is getting out tomorrow, I just...just wanted to make sure everything was ready for him. Change the bed and make sure there was food and...and clean the..blood up.'

Mrs Hudson smiled warmly at him and patted his arm, 'You're a good man, Bill Murray.'

Bill had been bracing himself to face the wrath of the tiny woman, and he was completely wrongfooted by the way she was smiling at him.

'I did the shopping yesterday, but since I didn't know when you two would be coming back I didn't get bread or milk, but there's still a loaf in the freezer beside the chicken brains.'

'He was supposed to get rid of those,' Bill said weakly.

'Well, I labelled them while I was there, just in case you accidentally used them in a casserole. Now young man, what do you have to say for yourself?'

At this Bill started to cry again. It seemed like that was all he had done for the last few days. But if he was expecting sympathy he didn't get any, instead Mrs Hudson flicked her tea towel at him.

'Oh do grow up,' she tutted, 'Crying over some chicken brains! How have you survived living with Sherlock this long? Come on, I'll make you a nice cup of tea and we can have a chat.'

And that was how Bill found himself sitting at the little formica table in Mrs Hudson's tiny kitchen. He had often marveled at how the woman managed to cook or bake anything in there let alone the massive spreads she was famous for.

'And how is Sherlock? Has he made anyone cry today?'

'Not while I was there.'

'And you are taking care of him?'

The question startled Bill and he just gaped at her before answering, 'I'm trying to. We've been...talking a lot.'

Mrs Hudson might like to pretend she was flighty, but no one runs one of the most successful drug cartels to ever come out of the Eastern United States and walks away scot free without being much more intelligent than they looked. She clapped and hands and leaned back.

'So he told you, then? Oh, thank goodness for that. You really shouldn't keep secrets from each other, it's not good for a marriage.'

'We aren't married,' Bill said because he couldn't think of any other response.

'Oh, more or less. Give it time, dear.'

While Mrs Hudson poured another cup of tea Bill took a second to compose himself.

'So...you knew too?'

'Of course, dear. He killed my husband. Well...technically the state of Florida killed him, but really Sherlock made it possible so it's only fair he gets the credit.'

'He killed your husband?' this was news to Bill as well. He knew that Sherlock had once helped Mrs Hudson with a difficult and personal case, but the consulting detective had refused to be drawn into discussing it with Bill.

'Oh don't worry, he wasn't a very nice man. And frankly a useless drug dealer. So it's all for the best really.'

'Did everyone know then?'

'Oh, probably not everyone.'

'So I was the only one that didn't?'

'Don't take it personally,' Mrs Hudson set the teapot down and pushed the plate of biscuits towards Bill, 'Or perhaps you should take it personally. Sherlock doesn't care what people think of him, in fact sometimes I think he enjoys being as horrid as possible, there was this time he- that doesn't matter. See, Sherlock doesn't care what we think about him. But he cares very much about what you think about him, even if he doesn't always act that way.'

Bill drank his tea in silence, keenly aware that Mrs Hudson was still looking at him.

'Can I still live here?' he asked quietly.

'I think if you tried to move out I would hunt you down and drag you back by your ear,' was the firm response, 'Although you will be paying for a new doormat.'

This was enough to cause Bill to well up again, but Mrs Hudson cut him off by lifting the plate of ginger nuts up to his face.

#

Sherlock rolled his eyes when Mycroft came into his room, but smiled when he saw Hamish was with him.

'Sherlock!' Hamish darted forward, and then stopped and looked back at Mycroft, who had obviously warned the young boy to be careful with his father.

'It's okay,' Sherlock shifted slightly, and looked at the school bag Hamish was carrying, 'What's that for?'

'He wanted to do his homework with you. Apparently,' Mycroft drawled in amusement, 'I am a dolt and I shan't repeat what he said about Gregory.'

Hamish gave his uncle an apologetic look, but when he turned back to Sherlock he flashed him a grin.

As Hamish started to unpack his books, Mycroft's mobile rang and he frowned.

'Excuse me, I have to take this,' and he left them alone.

#

Bill was surprised to see Mycroft outside the hospital shouting into his phone before hanging up and sighing in frustration, his eyes closed. When he opened them and saw Bill he immediately slipped back into his normal composed persona.

'Bad day at the office?' Bill asked, trying to keep the tone light, all too aware of how strained things had been over the last few days.

'You have no idea,' Mycroft gave Bill the once over, 'And how is Mrs Hudson?'

'...mercenary.'

Mycroft smiled at this, 'I think I need some tea.'

Bill didn't know Mycroft very well, even after six years, but he knew that Mycroft was excusing himself to stay out of Bill and Sherlock's way and he was grateful for it. He generally liked Mycroft, in so much as anyone except Greg could, but he often found the other man's presence to be slightly unsettling.

The door to Sherlock's room was open, and two of Mycroft's agents were not-so-subtly stationed in the corridor outside, but they ignored Bill as he passed.

What Bill saw made him stop. Hamish was laying on the bed beside Sherlock, curled around him, his head resting against Sherlock's shoulder. One of Hamish's books was open on Sherlock's legs where it had clearly fallen from tired hands, and Sherlock had his hand in Hamish's hair. They were both fast asleep.

Without thinking about what he was doing, Bill took out his phone and took a picture of them, forgetting what a light sleeper Sherlock could be.

The detective opened his eyes and blinked sleepily at Bill, a slight smile on his face as he held out his free hand. Bill walked slowly forward, pausing at Sherlock's bedside to reach out and stroke Hamish's face. Sherlock watched him, his cat like eyes following Bill as the midwife sat down in the chair beside Sherlock's bed and took his hand, kissing it lightly as Sherlock drifted back to sleep.

He had spent the last twenty four hours thinking about everything Sherlock had told him, everything he had confessed to, but sitting there, looking at his small family sleeping, he realised that it really didn't matter.


	66. Chapter 66

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sorry it took so long to update this one - had a crazy couple of weeks on set of a new project and barely a minute to myself. But here's a nice long chapter for you all. Enjoy.

Bill woke up to a pair of sharp eyes watching him over the swell of Sherlock's stomach.

'Hamish...'

The small boy blinked. All that was visible of him were his eyes and his mop of sandy curls.

Bill couldn't speak for the lump in his throat. Hamish didn't speak or move, and although there was no fear in his eyes, Bill couldn't shake the feeling that Hamish was hiding behind the still sleeping Sherlock.

Before he could compose himself to say anything else, the door opened and Greg appeared there. He paused when Bill looked up at him and gave a small smile but didn't say anything after he took in the sleeping Sherlock. Bill was grateful for the warmth in Greg's expression, but couldn't bring himself to return the smile when Hamish slid off the bed and took Greg's hand.

'I'll take him home,' Greg mouthed at Bill, who nodded in response.

As they were heading out the door Hamish looked back over his shoulder at Bill. And Bill's heart broke.

#

Sherlock was allowed home three days later when the doctor was certain it was safe. He hadn't had any more contractions and the scans he'd had showed the baby was doing fine. For some reason he couldn't identify he hadn't wanted Bill to be there for the first one. The thought of it made cold, his heart racing with panic. Bill had bit his lip and nodded, the hurt in his eyes like a stab to Sherlock's chest. But Sherlock knew it was nothing compared to how Sherlock would feel if the scan showed something wrong and he had to look at Bill while the news was broken.

So he was on his own as the sonographer scanned his stomach. Sherlock couldn't bring himself to look at the screen. Instead he kept his eyes trained on the sonographer's face as she worked, barely breathing as he scanned for anything in her expression that would indicate the outcome.

'Alright, there we are,' she said in a soft voice, nodding towards the screen.

Finally Sherlock allowed himself to look at the screen.

The sonographer wore a slight smile as she gave Sherlock a good look at the baby, and then she started to take measurements. Sherlock lost all interest in her, focused instead on the grey, grainy screen and the tiny shape that was now so familiar to him, the rapid flicker that was it's heartbeat and the small movements of tiny fists.

He went back to his room with a sense of relief and a handful of scan print outs.

Bill was standing at the window, pale and worried, searching Sherlock's face for reassurance as Sherlock was wheeled back in.

When they were alone Sherlock handed Bill the scans, still to caught up in processing his own emotions to be able to form the words.

Bill spread the images out on Sherlock's bed, his hands shaking too much to hold hem. His professional eyes scrutinized each small picture. He didn't lift his head when he spoke.

'It's...everything is okay.' It wasn't a question.

Sherlock nodded, 'That's what she said.'

Bill blinked rapidly and swallowed, 'Did she say anything else?'

He lifted his head then to meet Sherlock's suddenly anxious eyes.

'...no,' Sherlock whispered, 'What would she have...Bill?'

Bill pushed one of the pictures towards Sherlock.

'We're having a boy,' he said, smiling.

#

Hamish and Beatrice were sitting side by side in Sherlock's armchair staring intently at Bill who was opposite them, sitting on the recliner he'd brought with him when he moved in and Sherlock and the horrible pink armchair that would always have been 'John's chair' was disposed of.

Sherlock was sitting at the table scribbling in one of his notebooks, pretending he wasn't listening and doing a very poor job of it.

'My dad says you have to be held accountable for your actions,' Bea said in the tone of one who had clearly heard that phrase many times before.

'Yeah, that sounds like something Mycroft would say.'

Hamish frowned, his small fists balled on his knees, 'This isn't going to work if you don't take it seriously.'

'I will,' Bill promised, after all it had been his idea to ask the children what he needed to do to earn their trust again.

Hamish and Bea shared a look.

'You have to do lines.'

'Lines?'

Bea nodded, 'We have to do lines at school.'

'Yes, well, there's usually a reason for that, isn't there?' Bill sighed, 'What do I have to write?'

Bea handed him one of the sheets of paper she was holding and Bill read the childish handwriting that proclaimed 'I shall not hit other people.'

'One thousand times,' she said, 'And we will be counting.'

Bill didn't doubt that.

'Well,' he said, 'This doesn't seem too-'

'And you have to take us to soft play,' Hamish cut in.

'Twice.'

Bill nodded, 'I'm sure we can find one that still lets you in.'

'And the zoo,' Bea added.

'Now I know you are still banned from the zoo.'

He looked to Sherlock for confirmation, but Sherlock was still writing, 'Only the penguin enclosure.'

'Still?' Bill sighed, returning his gaze to the children, 'Did you learning anything for that?'

Hamish nodded, looking shockingly innocent, 'We learned that penguins do like Cornettos.'

'Sort of not the point, Hamish.'

'And a new pair of craft scissors,' Bea said, 'Each.'

'Ah, no! One pair! And they get locked away at night.'

'And you take us to Angelo's for diner.'

'And we get to sit in the window seats.'

'Fine, but no arts and cafts.'

Bea and Hamish shared another of their meaningful looks.

'Why?' Hamish asked in his most innocent voice.

'Because last time he let you make ransom letters.'

'So?' Bea blinked, her eyes wide. Bill wasn't fooled for a second.

'So I don't want you to get arrested before you leave primary school.'

'Uncle Mycroft would get us off without charge.'

'…yeah. That's probably true. Anything else?'

'A kitten.'

'Fine, but it lives at your house.'

'Bill!' Sherlock shook his head, 'Mycroft loves me, but he would have no qualms about killing you!'

'And an avocado.'

'No. I'm sorry, not stupid. Try again.'

Bea nudged Hamish to speak.

'Chocolate for breakfast for a month.'

'For a week. And the first one to get diabetes has to explain to Mycroft why you really got sent home from school early last week.'

'Can we pick the baby's name?'

'I don't think even I'm getting a say in that.'

'And we want to be allowed to visit Angelo's cousin's printing factory.'

'Why?'

'...reasons.' Hamish clearly wasn't about to elaborate.

'Do I want to know?'

'Doubtful.'

'Is it educational?' Sherlock asked.

'...yes?'

'Okay then.'

'Sherlock! You realise these are our kids we are talking about here?'

'I want my ear pierced!' Hamish announced.

'No.' Sherlock and Bill responded in unison.

'Uncle Greg has his ear pierced.'

'Well your Uncle Greg also has a tattoo of a sunflower on his arse so we're not looking to him for good lifestyle choices.'

'Does he?' Hamish asked at the same time Bea demanded 'How do you know?'

'I delivered Beatrice, so I've seen parts of her dad that I never want to see again.'

'That's disgusting!' Hamish pulled a face.

'I hope you washed your hands afterwards,' Bea narrowed her eyes.

Bill tried desperately to ignore Sherlock who was laughing silently as he bent over his notebook.

'Is that the end of your list?'

'I don't want a bedtime anymore.' Bea said.

'That's up to your dads.'

'And I don't want to wear underwear any more,' Hamish declared.

'I will have to consider that one. Is there any particular reason?'

Hamish wriggled meaningfully in his seat, 'I like the breeze.'

'Dear god!' Bill closed his eyes for a second.

'And you're not allowed to hit anyone again.'

'That one I can promise you both,' Bill leaned forward in his seat.

Another of those shared looks and the realization that there was a silent conversation going on between the cousins. Whatever they were conveying to each other through their facial expressions Bill didn't know, although Sherlock could probably tell, and once again Bill knew he was the least intelligent person in the room.

'Okay, Daddy,' Hamish slid off the chair, followed by Bea.

'Okay?' Bill asked half eager, half incredulous, 'That's it?'

'Yes.'

Hamish and Bea headed for the stairs to Hamish's room.

'Where are going?'

'...to play?'

'Play what?'

'...things.'

Bill might not have been as smart as his son, but he was smart enough to know avoidance when he saw it. He just hoped he wouldn't have to redecorate again after whatever those two were up to.

When they were gone Bill leaned back in his chair and sighed. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at Sherlock who seemed highly amused. He leaned as far over the back of the chair as his stomach would allow and kissed Bill's forehead.

'You know neither of them were actually upset? They just wanted to see how much they could sting you for.'

Bill nodded.

'I never stood a chance, did I?'

Sherlock smiled, 'Not a single one.'


	67. Chapter 67

John had lost track of time. Perhaps it was the constant lighting or the amount of drugs they pumped through his system on a daily basis, but hours and days stopped having any sort of meaning.

He was no longer fully aware of where he was, let alone when it was.

The only things that punctuated his long and lonely days were the food deliveries slid through the hatch in hid door, and the occasional appearance of Mycroft Holmes himself.

John had learned to listen for those visits. The first time terrified him as he had no idea what was going on. Just the sudden silence, the swift click of footsteps heading in the opposite direction, and then a gentle knock on the door to his room.

Now he knew the signs. He could almost smell the unease in the air when a visit was anticipated. 

'Dr Watson,' Mycroft Holmes nodded down at the restrained John before leaning his umbrella against the wall and seating himself in the chair opposite John.

'I trust you are keeping well?'

'Fuck you , Mycroft!' John growled out.

Mycroft just shook his head sadly.

'I really hoped we might have moved past this by now, Doctor.'

John felt the anger bloom in his chest, red hot and fierce.

'After all,' Mycroft was saying slowly, not looking at John but instead focusing on his own nails, 'We all make mistakes and it's rather a shame to dwell on them.'

'Mycroft I swear to god-'

'God won't help you now, Dr Watson.' Mycroft said calmly, looking up at John, 'In fact, no one can.'

'When the police hear-'

'The police?' Mycroft smirked, 'Oh dear boy, have you learned nothing int he time we have known each other? The police can't help you now. No one is coming for you. The only reason you are still alive is because it would pain Sherlock to have your death on his conscious.'

'His boyfriend almost-'

'Yes, well...Bill can get a little emotional when it comes to Sherlock and his children.'

'Hamish is not his son!'

'I think you'll find that he is.'

'A DNA test doesn't lie!'

There was a pause and then Mycroft sighed, 'True. However you won't find a laboratory in the country that will say you are Hamish's father.'

'But-'

Bill is a rather nice chap, don't you think?' Mycroft pursed his lips, 'Solid. Reliable. Not the most intelligent, but he looks after Sherlock and Hamish adores him.'

'I don't care about-'

'Which is why I let him beat you. He needed that. Sherlock needed that. And Gregory tells me that you needed that too, although I'm not sure how being beaten to a pulp is something one desires, but each to their own.'

'Why are you here?'

'No reason, really. We've just moved Ms Morsten into a room down the hall, I thought you might like to know your wife is close to hand. Of course she doesn't know that she's your wife, or who she is, but one takes such risks with sedatives that the outcomes aren't always clear.'

Mycroft stood up and smoothed his jacket before picking up his umbrella.

'Good day to you, Dr Watson.'

John's screams of frustration followed Mycroft down the hallway.


	68. Chapter 68

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to write this chapter, but a name was demanded and here it is.

No one could ever say that Mycroft was slow at getting things done. Greg watched as the stonemason carefully wiped down his handiwork with a damp cloth to remove any last traces of dust, and then packed his tools away.

He didn't speak as he passed them, just a sharp nod and then he was gone and thee were left alone at the graveside.

Mycroft hadn't spoken since they left the house, but now he turned to Greg, his storm coloured eyes soft and worried.

'Is it okay?' he asked quietly.

Greg nodded, 'Yes.' was all he could manage.

It had taken five years, but there was finally a name above the grave of their first child.

Laurence Reynard Lestrade-Holmes.

#

Later that night Mycroft was almost asleep when Gregory spoke.

'I don't want another one.'

Mycroft didn't respond. Didn't even move. He lay there in the dark, painfully aware that Gregory was waiting for a response, but unable to form any words that were suitable.

'I don't want to try again. I...I'm going to get sterlised.'

At this Mycroft did move, rolling over and sitting up to look at Gregory, who was still laying on his side, his back to Mycroft.

'Gregory! That's...it's a big decision and-'

'And I've thought about it properly. It's all I've thought about lately. I wasn't sure, but after today...it's what I want, Mycroft. But...but I know how much it means to you, so if still want more kids, and if you decide to...if you meet someone else then I understand. I won't stop you.'

Mycroft wasn't sure whether it was the words or the matter of fact tone they were delivered in that broke his heart, but the next thing he knew he had grabbed Gregory's shoulder, pulling him onto his back so Mycroft could look down at him.

There was silence as the two men looked at each other, and then Mycroft shook his head slightly.

'I love you, Gregory Lestrade.'

He bent his head and kissed his husband softly, and Gregory pulled him down into a tight embrace.

'I love you too,' the policeman whispered against Mycroft's skin, the catch in his voice the only warning before he started crying and apologising.

Mycroft pulled him closer and held him to his chest.

'There is nothing to apologise for,' he said again and again, hoping that Gregory might finally believe him.


	69. Chapter 69

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are getting back on track.
> 
> *Edit* - just noticed that I only posted the first bit of teh chapter - my bad. Fixed it now.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably, rearranging his pillow in an effort to aid sleep. But sleep was refusing to come, and Sherlock was painfully aware of why.

Since Sherlock returned from the hospital, and despite the general situation between them being comfortable, Bill had still not returned to their bed. Sherlock heard him late at night, pacing the flat at times before eventually getting some sleep on the sofa.

Never in his life did he ever expect to feel this way, but Sherlock missed Bill.

Eventually he threw back the covers and eased himself to his feet. It was getting harder and harder to move about. He was definitely bigger this time around.

He found Bill in the kitchen making coffee and he frowned.

'Come to bed.'

Bill glanced over his shoulder at his pregnant mate and tried to smile, 'You should be asleep.'

'So should you. Come to bed.'

'I'm not really tired, Sherlock.'

'Don't lie to me. Look at you, you can barely stand.'

For a moment it looked like Bill was about to crumple to the floor, but he bit his lower lip and steadied himself against the counter.

'....is it....is it me?' the thought hadn't occurred to Sherlock until right at that moment,b ut he suddenly found the concept overwhelming and fear gripped at his chest while he waited for Bill to answer.

Bill closed the gap between them in a second, taking hold of Sherlock's upper arms.

'It's not you,' he said and then leaned his forehead against Sherlocks, 'Of course it's not you.'

'So why don't you want to sleep with me?'

Bill whispered something that Sherlock didn't hear properly.

'What?'

'I don't deserve to,' Bill reapeated, louder this time as he started to pull away from Sherlock.

'Nonsense.'

'Sherlock-'

'You would force me to endure night after night of restless sleep? In my condition? Just because you are feeling sorry for yourself? How selfish!'

Bill rocked back in surprise and then caught the amusement in Sherlock's eyes and he smiled back at the detective.

'I'm a terrible boyfriend.'

Sherlock pulled a face, 'You know I hate that word.'

'Well what should I call you instead?' Bill asked as he followed Sherlock to the bedroom.

'I'm sure there are suitable alternatives and where I not so sleep deprived I'm certain I could suggest a plethora of alternatives that do not sound so juvenille.'

'Man friend?' Bill asked as he rearranged the pillows Sherlock had scattered in his quest for comfort.

'I've changed my mind,' Sherlock eased himself down, 'Back to the sofa with you.'

Sherlock had never really appreciated how happy Bill's laugh could make him. Admittedly sometimes it infuriated him beyond belief, but right at that moment it was a wonderful sound. He lay down on his side and on then realised Bill was watching him.

'What?'

Bill shook his head, 'Nothing.'

'It's clearly not nothing or you wouldn't be wearing your thinking face.'

'I have a thinking face?'

'Yes.'

'I didn't know that.'

'Well you don't do it very often.'

Bill pretended to be offended, 'Perhaps I shall go back to the sofa.'

'No!' Sherlock shook his head slightly, 'You shall turn off the lamp and then lie down here and comfort me.'

'Is that what the kids are calling it these days?'

'I'm not referring to sexual relations.'

'Good, because I'm knackered.'

'You can fulfill my requirements in the morning.'

'Oh, I can, can I?'

'Right now however a require you to ensure my comfort is maintained.'

'Jesus, were you this precious when you were having Hamish?'

Sherlock paused, only for the briefest of seconds, but it was enough for Bill to notice and his face fell.

'Sorry, I wasn't thinking.'

Sherlock nodded, 'I know. You weren't doing the face.'

The small smile that started to bloom on Sherlock's lips was halted by Bill's kiss. When they finally broke apart Sherlock closed his eyes, letting sleep wash over him again, but this time he was wrapped warmly in Bill's arms.

 

#

 

It was still dark when Sherlock woke up, his back to Bill and Bill's wrapped around him still. It was clear that Bill was already awake when he kissed the back of Sherlock's neck.

'Go back to sleep.'

'What if I don't want to?' Sherlock asked, angling his neck to allow Bill to continue to press kisses against his skin.

'It's half four, what else would you suggest?'

Sherlock shifted slight and yes...that was a rather impressive erection that was pressing against his thigh.

'Sorry,' Bill moved away slightly, 'Can't help it.'

'Bill?'

'Hmm?'

'Take my pyjamas off.'

'Did your arms stop working during the night?'

'No. But by the time I negotiate undressing we'll be too old for sex.'

'Now, you didn't mention sex.'

'Should I have?'

'It might have been a bit more of an incentive.'

'Bill!' Sherlock whined, pressing back against Bill again and grinding hard against Bill's erection.

Bill moaned softly against Sherlock's shoulder.

'You're a bad man.'

But he was already moving down the bed to pull down Sherlock's bottoms. He paused then, staring down at Sherlock in the darkness.

'You are gorgeous.'

Sherlock bit his lip and had to look away from Bill. Six years and he still wasn't used to the way Bill looked at him, or the earnestness in his voice when he spoke to Sherlock.

And then Bill was kissing him again, very softly, his hands roaming across Sherlock's body, settling on his stomach as Bill paused his actions.

'Bill, don't stop. It's been nearly two weeks.'

'A lifetime,' Bill laughed quietly.

Sherlock didn't respond, mostly because, since the first time, rarely a day had gone by without Bill and Sherlock having sex of some description. In hindsight it was a wonder he didn't get pregnant sooner given how often they did it.

Sex with Bill had been somewhat of a revelation. It wasn't like any of his previous encounters, and was as far from his one rushed experience with John as it was possible to get. Even when they were having silly, giggly sex there was an intensity to it that Sherlock had never felt before with anyone else. He felt it then as Bill pushed into him with painstaking slowness, his chest against Sherlock's back and his hand protective across Sherlock's stomach.

Sherlock let out the breath he hadn't realised he was still holding and with it came Bill's name and those words he didn't think he would ever get used to saying.

'I love you.'

It was woefully inadequate to accurate sumarise his feelings for Bill, but they were the only words he had that even came close, so he hoped that for now they would be enough.


	70. Chapter 70

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ah, so I gave in to the pressure.

Greg still wasn't used to Mycroft being home before he was, but walking into the house to the sight of a casually dressed Mycroft cooking dinner with Beatrice was something he thought he could get very used to.

'Is that my jumper?' he asked, bending down to kiss first his daughter and then his husband.

'Are you suggesting that I would steal your clothing?'

Greg turned to Beatrice, 'Did he steal my jumper?'

Bea looked from one parent to the other before shrugging, 'Uncle Bill said it's not nice to tout.'

And she popped a raw mushroom into her mouth.

Mycroft sighed dramatically, 'And now my daughter says 'tout'!'

Greg laughed and leaned forward to kiss Mycroft's cheek again, 'It suits you.' he said, and enjoyed the slight blush that stained Mycroft's cheeks at the compliment.

'And you,' he said to Bea, 'Should wait until they are cooked.'

'I like them raw,' she said, biting into another mushroom.

'And what exactly are you doing up there on the counter?'

Bea was swinging her legs, looking both impossibly grown up and incredibly innocent in her long apron, her wild hair, for now, neatly tied back.

'Quality control.'

Mycroft rolled his eyes and nodded to the chopping board.

'You can do the tomatoes if you're careful.'

Beatrice's eyes lit up at this, 'Can I use the big knife?'

'Ah, no,' Greg cut in, 'Not after last time.'

'You can use the one with the yellow handle.'

As Beatrice climbed down off the counter and went to retrieve the mentioned knife from the block, Greg looked at Mycroft with questioning eyes.

'Really?'

'If she learns how to use tools properly then she is at little risk of harm. Many indigenous tribes teach their children how to hunt and skin at Beatrice's age. I highly doubt allowing her to chop some vegetables under supervision will bring her much harm.'

'Yeah, but we don't live in a rainforest or the arctic, Myc, we live in Mayfair. There's not much to hunt around here except politicians and foreign royalty.'

'There are those insufferable young men from the middle east with their ridiculous cars and lack of self respect or worth ethic.'

'Hmm,' Greg said non commitedly. They were a growing problem in central London and some of the lads on traffic had made some rude comments about where Greg lived and if he was going to start double parking his Bugatti. The thought alone made Greg twitch. He felt like a big enough fraud traveling in Mycroft's car which had been one of the reasons he had held on to his own battered Escort for so long.

'One of them almost hit Beatrice and Hamish at the crossing last week.'

'What?' Greg whirled around, no one had mentioned that to him.

'Oh it was fine, Kovačić dealt with it on site and then I had the gentleman in question deported.'

Greg stared open mouthed at his husband who was looking back at him innocently, as if deporting reckless drivers was something he did every day. And maybe it was. Greg was still a bit sketchy about the exact details of what Mycroft did at work. Normally he was quite relieved he didn't know.

'Are these small enough?' Beatrice asked, pointing to the tomato carnage she had created. There were no full slices, but there were seeds and juice seeping over the edge of the chopping board and onto the expensive marble counters. 

Mycroft smiled indulgently in the way that some parents do when they know they aren't going to be the one cleaning it up.

'Perfect,' he said and Beatrice beamed.

'What are you guys making anyway?' Greg asked, leaning over to inspect the pot Mycroft was stirring, only to have his hand batted away by a sauce covered spoon, but not before Greg got a good look at the pot.

'Is that chicken chasseur?' he asked gleefully, 'How very retro.'

'Are you mocking my cookery?'

Greg shook his head and opened the fridge to retrieve the wine, 'Not at all.'

Mycroft accepted the poured glass with a smile, but didn't move away from the oven as he worked.

'So, Bill said he's taking you and Hamish to the zoo tomorrow?'

Beatrice nodded happily, 'They have a new baby hippo.'

'Are you banned from that enclosure?'

'Not yet,' Beatrice swiped another raw mushroom from the board beside Mycroft's elbow.

'More wine?' Greg asked Mycroft.

'Please!'

#

When Beatrice was finally asleep, slightly overexcited about the impending trip to the zoo, Mycroft walked into the living room with a fresh bottle of wine.

'Another?' he asked, and Greg couldn't help but notice it was the really good stuff they usually only opened on special occasions. He wasn't a wine expert, but you couldn't live with Mycroft without learning a few things, and these bottles were like gold dust in the UK. Mycroft had them specially imported from a vineyard that only produced a thousand of this variety a year, and most of them were bought by Mycroft.

'What are we celebrating?'

Mycroft looked down at the wine bottle and shrugged, 'Why does it have to be a celebration?'

'You don't usually break out the good stuff unless it's a special day.'

Mycroft dropped his gaze into his glass then for a moment, 'Perhaps all days should be special.'

It wasn't often that Mycroft was openly sentimental, which made Greg sit up straighter in his chair.

'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Mycroft said, looking up at him with nothing but honesty in his eyes, 'I just realised that life is very short and if we only keep things for special occassions or rainy days then it makes all the other days seem less special.' he took a sip, 'Besides, if we can afford to drink the best wine then we should drink the best wine.'

'So, we're drinking Bea's inheritance?' Greg fought back a smile, 'I don't think she will thank you for that.'

'She can add it to my list of failings.'

'The cheesecake was not your fault.'

'It was still liquid, Gregory!'

'Yeah, not sure how you managed that. You're usually a great cook.'

'Desserts have never been my forte.'

'You should indulge a bit more.'

'Is that a suggestion?'

'Take it how you will,' Greg said with a wink that made Mycroft laugh. It still amazing him after so many years that he, and only he, could made Mycroft lower his defences like that. Only he, well, and Bea, and Hamish, and sometimes Bill and Sherlock, but mostly him, got to hear Mycroft laugh or make a joke. Only he got to dance with Mycroft in the kitchen, or make jokes about farts while they were in bed. Only he got the full force of Mycroft's acerbic wit when they had to attend functions neither of them wanted to be at, and only he got to hear the quiet murmurs of concern when Mycroft was worried about something or someone. And even now that responsibility of being that person for Mycroft was overwhelming and amazing.

'You spoke with Bill today?'

Greg knew Mycroft would have picked up on that inference and he nodded.

'Yeah. I...I'm seeing the doctor on Tuesday but....well I wanted a professional opinion first.'

'If your doctor is not a professional-'

'You know what I mean. I wanted someone who...who I'm comfortable with to have a look and a chat first.'

'Gregory, I would rather you let me be the one to have-'

'Myc, please. Just hear me out. Okay?'

Mycroft nodded and remained silent.

'I'm not saying I've changed my mind. I haven't. I thought about it and with everything that's happened before and what it did to us...I can't do that again. So I just want to know the options, and I thought, well, Bill knows my history and he delivered Bea, and...I trust him to be honest.'

'As do I.'

'Really?'

Mycroft nodded, 'When is your appointment?'

'He's gonna fit me in tomorrow before he takes the kids out. The zoo doesn't open until ten so....'

'Would you like me to come with you?'

Greg shook his head, 'Nah. It's just a chat with Bill. More to understand things a bit before we see the doctor on Tuesday.'

Mycroft nodded and didn't press the issue, which was something Greg had always loved about his husband. Even if he didn't always understand why someone needed their own space to work things through, he always gave it

'More wine?' Mycroft asked.

'Yes!'

#

'Greg, I'm not a doctor.'

'I know that, I just want your opinion before I take it further.'

Bill looked uncertain, 'I just don't think I should be the one you talk to about this.'

'Who else will tell me the truth?'

'That's not....it's not good practice to treat family members.'

Greg would have laughed if he wasn't so nervous, 'You delivered both Hamish and Bea and I know for a fact that Sherlock is relying on your to deliver your next baby too, so don't you start all that good practice shit with me.'

Bill bit his lip uncertainly and then sighed, 'Fine. But you have to promise Mycroft won't kill me.'

'Trust me, he won't. He knows I'm here. And we'd better be quick, there are two small children waiting for you.'

Bill sighed, 'My day just gets better and better.'

It only took Bill a moment to pull up Greg's previous medical records, even though he knew them well enough already. Half an hour later he had added a new uterus scan and a blood test to Greg's notes.

'Well?' Greg asked, doing up his trousers.

'Well,' Bill started, 'Are you certain about this?'

Greg nodded.

'Because it would be much easier if Mycroft-'

'He offered. I said no.' Greg didn't mean to be so short with Bill, but he couldn't help it.

'Alright,' Bill said slowly, 'Well. And bear in mind that I'm not a doctor...'

'Noted.'

'On a professional level....I wouldn't recommend trying to have any more children.'

Despite that being what Greg had expected to hear, it was still a shock to listen to the words said out loud.

'You have a very large amount of uterine scarring which would make it incredibly difficult to get pregnant or maintain that pregnancy.'

This was nothing new to either of them. The last few years of desperately trying for another baby had revealed many things about Greg's inner body.

'That said, I think we should get your implant removed as soon as possible, this morning actually. And then you need to go home and discuss your options with Mycroft before next week's appointment.'

'Of course I'll talk to Myc!'

'Greg,' Bill said slowly, 'You need to really talk over this weekend. Work out how you feel and what you both want.'

'We have already-'

'Greg!'

'What?'

'You're pregnant!'


	71. Chapter 71

'Good morning Stanley,' Hamish and Beatrice chimed in unison.

''Oh God! Are you allowed here?'

'We're going to see the baby hippo,' Beatrice informed the uniformed staff member.

'And the penguins.' Hamish added.

'No,' Bill shook his head, 'You're still baned.'

'Still?' Beatrice pouted.

'Fine.' Hamish frowned, 'Can we feed the lemurs?'

Stanley looked from the two children to Bill and the mighty Kovačić and then nodded.

'I'll tell Kim you are on your way.'

Beatrice and Hamish darted through the gate leaving a Kovačić and a nervous Bill to face Stanley.

'I promise they won't cause trouble this time,' Bill said as he counted out notes from his wallet.

Stanley didn't look too convinced but he waved them on.

Two hours later Bill was sitting on a bench beside Kovačić watching Beatrice and Hamish dancing around the water's edge and eating icecream.

'Mr Holmes trusts you.' Kovačić said suddenly.

'What?'

'I've worked for him for a long time, over twenty years. I've seen...things. I know you feel bad about the doctor, but Mr Holmes is very protective of his brother. If...well if he thought you were dangerous then you wouldn't get within a hundred feet of him.'

'But I-'

'He knows what you did. And you are free and alive, so what does that tell you?'

Bill ran his hand over his face before looking across at Kovačić, 'I meet his approval?'

'Somewhat.' Kovačić shrugged, making Bill smile, 'No!' he yelled suddenly, 'Tortoises don't like ice cream!'

#

'It's torture, isn't it?' Bill flopped down on his side of the bed.

'Hmmm?'

'Don't 'hmmm' me,' Bill rolled over and kissed Sherlock softly, 'You know what I'm talking about.'

Sherlock laughed and made to roll over.

'I should have just bought them the craft scissors.;

'You really shouldn't.'

'True,' Bill kissed Sherlock's shoulder and then pulled back as Sherlock stiffened.

'Sherlock?'

'I...I think I'm labour.'


	72. Chapter 72

'Okay. Hamish? Good, you're awake. Grab Sherlock's bag and then go and wake Mrs Hudson.'

Hamish nodded and scurried off to get the overnight bag Sherlock had packed just a few days before. Bill eased him down into his armchair.

'Just relax, it'll be fine.'

'He's eight weeks early.'

'It'll be fine,' Bill repeated.

'It wasn't fine for Lestrade.'

In the silence that followed Bill didn't have a response. All he could do was lean in and hold Sherlock as he winced through another contraction.

'Hudders is putting on her shoes,' Hamish declared as bounced back into the flat.

Bill handed over his phone, 'Call your uncle Mycroft. And my dad.'

'Do I have to stay here?' Hamish asked.

'No, you'll be at Mrs Hudson's.'

Hamish looked down at his feet and then up at his parents, 'Can I come?'

'What?'

'To watch?'

Bill looked at Sherlock who just shrugged, 'I...fine. Get your coat.'

Mrs Hudson was at the bottom of the stairs as Bill helped Sherlock down. Hamish was behind them carrying Sherlock's bag, his expression of one great importance and slight smugness.

'Where are you going with that?' Mrs Hudson asked him.

'Daddy says I can watch the baby come out.'

'That wasn't quite what I said!'

'Oh! Wait for me!' Mrs Hudson dashed back into her own flat and reappeared a few seconds later with her coat and a tin which she passed to Hamish, 'I made these earlier.'

'Can we get in the car now?' Sherlock shouted.

#

'You wanted to talk?' Mycroft looked over his wine glass at Gregory.

'Yeah. Well, you know I had my appointment with Bill-'

'Yes. Was there a...hang on.' Greg waited as Mycroft retrieved his phone, 'Yes. We're on our way.'

'What?' Greg sat up straighter, 'What's happened?'

'Sherlock's in labour,' Mycroft was already texting his driver.

'But he's not due yet!'

'Exactly.'


	73. Chapter 73

Mycroft flinched as he heard Sherlock scream out, but Gregory's hand was warm in his and the look his husband gave him went a long way to settle his nerves.

'He'll be fine.'

Mycroft couldn't do anything except nod.

'Bill knows what he's doing.'

'It's not Bill I'm worried about.'

'Where is he?;' came a high pitched voice from the other end of the corridor.

'Is Bill with him?' asked a softer, older voice.

Mycroft stood to greet his parents and Bill's father, 'Sherlock is in the maternity suite. Bill is with him.'

'He's sleeping,' Came Bill's voice, and all present turned to look at the midwife.

'How...?' Mycroft started, but was silenced by Greg's hand on his arm.

'How many drugs did you give him?'

Bill shrugged, 'Lots.'

'And Hamish?'

'He's with Molly. She had a spleen....'

'I want a spleen!' Beatrice piped up, causing Bill to smile.

'Go on then. Kovačić will go with you.'

Beatrice didn't wait for either of her parents to approve before she was running down the corridor dragging Kovačić behind her.

Richard Murray took in his son's exhausted appearance.

'Are you okay?'

Bill nodded, 'Yeah. Fine,'

'It must be very exciting for you,' Violet said, ' A son...grandson of your own.'

Silence filled the corridor and Greg once again rested his hand on Mycroft's arm. Bill, however, stood tall.

'I already have a son,' he said, 'And if you ever suggest other wise then you'll never see either of my children again.'

'William-' Richard started, but Bill shook off his father and maintained his eye contact with Violet.

'No!' Bill shrugged him off, 'This isn't about her. This about MY family. MY sons!'

Richard nodded, 'I should probably check what they are doing with that spleen.'


	74. Chapter 74

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Bill's dad is sweet....

Granda Dick!' Beatrice hurtled towards the man who beamed and swooped her up despite her being his son's partner's niece and no relation to him at all really.

'How was your spleen?'

'Amazing! And Molly said we can come back later and get some toes!'

'Sounds like you have a full day! Where's Hamish?'

'He's talking to Molly. Babies are complicated, aren't they?'

'They can be,' Richard conceded, avoiding looking at Greg, 'Shall we go and find Hamish and then see if we can get some biscuits around here?'

'Is the baby going to be okay?' Beatrice asked suddenly, causing silence to fall amongst the adults in the corridor.

Richard dropped to his knees and nodded at her, ' Do you trust Bill?'

'Of course!' Bea looked offended.

'Then do you think he wouldn't do everything he could?'

'That wasn't what I asked.'

'No. It wasn't. Was it?'

'Hamish is crying. So is Uncle Bill but everyone is pretending that nothing is wrong.'

Greg wanted to snath away Beatrice but Richard was on his knees, looking at her the same way Bill looked at her and in that moment Greg understood why Sherlock loved the man.

'Sometimes adults do that, Princess.'

'What if it goes wrong?'

Mycroft made a move to stand, but Greg held him back, trusting Richard.

'Then we cope.'

Beatrice nodded, her five year old self both too young and too old all at once.

'Do you want to see our spleen, Granda Dick?' she asked, holding out a hand.

'I'd like that very much, Bumble Bea.'


	75. Chapter 75

'So you yelled at Mummy?'

Bill brushed Sherlock's hair out of his eyes, 'She deserved it.'

'Where are they?'

'Hamish and Bea? They're with Molly. She has a spleen....and toes.'

'I want toes!'

'I'll make sure you have all the toes you want if you just lie down.'

'It hurts!'

Bill shrugged, 'That's what labour is. It hurts. Do...do you need more painkillers?'

'You promised me good drugs this time.'

'I know, but-'

'You promised.'

'I know, but if you have them now then they'll wear off before you really need them.'

'I don't care!'

'You will.'

'Where's Hamish?'

'I told you, he's with Molly.'

'I want Hamish.'

'Okay. As soon as he comes back.'

'Why are you crying?'

'Because you're annoying.'

'Is something wrong? There's something wrong!'

'No.'

'If there was nothing wrong you wouldn't be upset.'

'I'm not upset-'

'So tell me the truth! Don't lie to me.'

Bill nodded, 'I'm just worried. They baby is eight weeks early and we have nothing ready for him.'

'...you think he'll be coming home?' Sherlock whispered.

'Well he can't live here.'

'But-'

'Sherlock, do you trust me?'

Sherlock looked up at Bill and nodded without hesitation.

'Okay then, so let me do my job. And...please don't kick me this time.'

That at least raised a smile although it was a weak one.

'Can I leave you alone for two minutes?'

'Where are you going?'

'To get some tramadol.'

'I'm an ex addict, I can't have opiates. You promised-'

'It's not for you.'

Bill was halfway to the door when Sherlock's voice stopped him.

'Bill, something's wrong!'

Bill was beside his partner in an instant, holding his hand as Sherlock cried out through the contraction and then pulling back the bed sheet to look between Sherlock's legs.

'Guess I'm not getting that tramadol.'

'What? What's wrong? Why does it feel like that?'

'Baby is crowning.'

'What? But Hamish didn't feel like that. Why is it happening so fast!'

'Well at this stage in Hamish's labour you had just thrown on me and were in the process of shitting yourself,' Bill reminded him, 'But yeah, he's coming very fast. That's not a bad thing though.'

'Liar.'

'Sherlock, if he's coming tonight then the sooner we get him out the sooner we can get him checked over.'

'What if there is something wrong?'

'Then the sooner we know that too.'

Sherlock looked unsure but he nodded before another contraction took hold of him. Bill remained where he was, the consumate professional, carefully watching their son being born.

'Sherlock,' he said quietly, 'I don't want to alarm you-'

'What's wrong? Bill?'

Bill lifted his head and met Sherlock's panicked stare.

'He's ginger.'

Sherlock snarled at him, 'That's not funny.'

'No. You're right, it's not. And he's not even Mycrfot-ginger, he's properly orange.'

'I hate you!'

'I know.'

'We are never having sex again.'

'If you could see what I can see then you'd realise how accurate you are.'

Bill was treated to one of Sherlock's death stares.

'In fact,' Bill said slowly, 'If you can lean forward enough you could see him.'

It was startling how fast even a heavily pregnant labouring Sherlock could move.

'That's his hair!'

'Yeah. I know you can't bend that far, but I can see his face too.'

'What's he like?'

'Like a small purple and grey old man.'

'That's our son! He's not ugly!'

'All babies are ugly.'

'How can you-'

'Trust me, I've seen thousands of them.'

'You haven't seen thousands of ours!'

'No, but this is the second one I've seen come out of you.'

'It didn't put you off.'

'Yeah, but then I do have weird tastes in men.'

'Bill, can I ask you something?'

'Yeah, but in a minute, because his shoulders are about to come out and this is gonna hurt.'

'Marry me.'

Bill stood up, eyes wide, but anything he could have said was drowned out by Sherlock's yell and then silence in the room.

'Bill?' Sherlock asked again, more urgently as he tried to sit up, but he stopped when Bill took a step towards him and carefully laid a tiny baby on Sherlock's chest, 'He's...he's...'

'Perfect,' Bill said softly, gently stroking the back of the tiny head before reaching for a blanket to cover him.

'Are you....crying?'

'No.'

Sherlock looked down at the tiny form cradled against him.

'I've just pushed you out and the very least your daddy could do is agree to marry me.'

'I...you're serious?' Bill started crying properly then, too overwhelmed to care how he looked.

'Yes,' Sherlock didn't take his eyes off his son, 'And I bet you haven't even picked out a name for him yet.'

Bill reached down and tipped Sherlock's face up towards his, 'I love you, you ridiculous man.'

'I love you too,' Sherlock said quietly, smiling slightly as he did, the words still unfamiliar on his tongue.

Bill kissed him softly.

'Is that a yes?'

'Yes,' Bill said.

'Can you get Hamish?'

'In a minute.'

'Now.'

'Can you wait a minute until you pass the afterbirth?'

'The what? Oh dear god - is there another one in there?' Sherlock's shout was added to by the cry of a very startled baby and then Hamish bursting in looking alarmed.

'What's wrong?' Hamish demanded.

'Nothing. It's all fine.'

'Why was Sherlock screaming.'

'Because he just had your brother.'

'Brother? But I asked for a sister.'

'Tough.'

Hamish moved forward and looked critically at the baby, 'He's ginger.' then he narrowed his eyes at Bill, 'You had one job!'

'Well I asked the baby fairies for a not-ginger girl but this is what we got.'

'What's wrong with your face? Have you been crying? Did you cry when I was born?'

'Yeah, but that was mostly because Sherlock had just kicked me in the face.'

'Why are you smiling like that?' Hamish demanded, 'Sherlock? Daddy?'

'Well,' Bill began and then paused, 'Would it be okay with you if I married Sherlock?'

Hamish looked from one parent to the other, 'So first a ginger baby and now this? What's next?'

He turned around and stomped towards the door again.

'Hamish?' Sherlock started.

'I need to talk to be Bea about this.'

'What about getting married?' Bill asked, which stopped Hamish in his tracks for a moment, the small boy running his eye over the man who had been his father for all of his short life, then he shrugged.

'You'll do,' he called over his shoulder as he left.


	76. Chapter 76

Sherlock was let out the next day, but the baby had to stay.

'But why?' Sherlock demanded childishly.

'Because he's not strong enough to feed properly yet so he needs to be on the tube until he is.'

'But-'

'No buts. Now, have you got your pump?'

Sherlock waved the offending article with a snarl, 'Yes.'

'Good. '

'But I wanted to feed him myself.'

Regardless of the tone Sherlock complained in, Bill knew he was upset.

'You keep using that then and you are.'

'But Bill-'

Bill shook his head, 'Sherlock, I know you want to nurse. But I also know the only reason you do it is because you are too lazy to wash out bottles.'

'That's not true.'

Bill raised his eyebrows and Sherlock conceded.

'Fine, it's not entirely true.'

'Come on, let's go see him before we get you home.'

'And you're coming straight back here.'

'I'm coming straight back,' Bill confirmed, 'And I'll bring you back again after you've had a nap.'

'And you'll look after him?'

'No, I'll sell him to a rich Saudi couple.'

Bill steered Sherlock out his room, lifting a cooler bag that was waiting at the door.

 

'What's that?' Sherlock asked and Bill smiled.

'It's a surprise.'

Bill refused to be drawn on the subject despite Sherlock's constant questions until they were back in their own flat and he set it on the table. Before turning to Sherlock with a smile.

'Go on then, open it.'

Sherlock tore into the bag and then looked up at Bill with wide eyes.

'Placenta.'

Bill nodded, 'I pulled in some favours. You're not really meant to take those home.'

'It's mine?' Sherlock gasped.

Bill nodded again and kissed him on the cheek, 'Knock yourself out. But try to get some sleep. I'll be back in a couple of hours. Mrs Hudson is keeping Hamish until later.'

Sherlock glanced longingly at the bag on the table, but his eyes were already closing where he stood.

#

When Bill returned from the hospital to collect Sherlock he found the other man wide awake in the kitchen and a pleasant smell drifting through the flat.

'Did you order something? Thank god I'm starving.' Bill peeled his coat off and threw it on the sofa before going into the kitchen and stopping as he caught sight of what Sherlock was doing.

The tall detective was standing over a plate a lump of something brown half way to his mouth, his eyes wide at getting caught.

'Sherlock?' Bill's eyes flicked to the cooler bag that was still where he'd left it and then back at Sherlock who was still holding the fork in front of his face, 'Don't you dare!'

Sherlock kept his gaze fixed defiantly on Bill as he continuted the forks journey.

'I swear to god, Sherlock, if you put that in your mouth I am never kissing you again.'

Very slow Sherlock's tongue peeked out and he touched it to the lump of cooked placenta.

'Jesus Christ!' Bill tried not to heave, 'That is NOT what I brought that home for!'

Sherlock returned his tongue to his mouth and looked thoughtful.

'It's not as bad as I thought.'

'I can't believe you licked that.'

'I've licked worse,' Sherlock shrugged, 'And you don't complain when I lick your-'

'Alright, alright. Point taken. Still, go and brush you teeth before we leave.'

#

'We are not pleased about this,' Hamish and Beatrice were waiting with Mycroft for Sherlock and Bill when they arrived at the neonatal unit.

'Why does that not surprise me?'

'It needs a name. We can't keep calling it 'It.' Hamish said.

'Well we could, but Daddy says we shouldn't,' Beatrice added.

Bill sighed, already knowing it was going to be one of those days.

'Alright, and I suppose you have some suggestions?'

'We have a list,' Beatrice produced it from her pocket and passed it across to Bill.

'Of course you do,' Bill scanned the list with interest, 'Yeah, we're not calling him The Eater of Souls.'

'Told you,' Beatrice hissed.

'Or Potato.'

'Uncle Sherlock said we should list things we like. I like potatoes.'

'Yeah. Still not happening,' Bill could hear Sherlock laughing quietly behind him and he wondered how it always seemed to be him who had to have these conversations while Sherlock got to stand back and laugh, 'And Jessica is a girl's name.'

'So is Sherlock,' Mycroft pointed out.

'Not helpful Mycroft.' Bill folded the list, 'We'll review it later and take your suggestions under consideration.'

'Can we see him now?' Hamish asked hopefully.

'Yeah,' Bill said, 'But only for ten minutes. You're not really supposed to be up here.'

'Yes,' Beatrice said, 'But no one is going to tell Daddy that, are they?'

Bill glanced at Mycroft who was looking smug, 'True. Come on then.'

#

The two children stood in front of the incubator and considered the baby in silence. Then they shared a look between each other and looked up at Mycroft.

'We're done now.' Hamish said.

'That's it?'

'He's not doing anything.'

'He's two days old.'

'He'll be more interesting when we can train him,' Beatrice said which caused Bill and Mycroft to share a look of alarm.

'I'll take them to get something to eat and bring Hamish home later,' Mycroft said, and he smiled softly at Sherlock, 'Congratulations, brother.'

But Sherlock wasn't listening, already lost in staring at the, as yet unnamed baby.

#

And this was their routine for the next two weeks. Sherlock would maximise every possibly opportunity to hold the baby until Bill would insist that Sherlock go home to ensure he got some sleep. Sherlock would complain bitterly and creatively every time he had to use the fucking breast pump. And either Mycroft of Greg would bring the children over once a day to visit the hospital.

Then came the unexpected day when Bill and Sherlock and Bill arrived and the baby didn't have the feeding tube in. The nurse who was attending smiled at Bill and Sherlock, who turned to Bill.

'Did you know about this?'

Bill nodded, 'I thought it would be a nice surprise.'

Sherlock lifted the baby of expressed baby milk, 'And you made me express all this for fun?'

'It kept you occupied and out of trouble.'

'Would you like to try feeding him?' the nurse asked with a bright smile.

Sherlock nodded.

'I'll get one of the midwives to come and show you how to do it-'

'He,' Sherlock narrowed his eyes, 'Is a midwife. And I have done this before.'

The nurses face fell and Bill felt bad for her.

'He means thank you, but it'll be okay,' and he fished his hospital ID out of his bag.

'Oh. Okay,' the nurse nodded and scurried off in relief.

Five minutes later Bill was watching Sherlock finally nursing the baby. And a moment after that one of the other midwives Sherlock vaguely knew through Bill turned up, again beaming widely.

'Hello you three,' she said, 'How is he getting on? He figure it out?'

'He's doing it,' Sherlock said as if the baby was doing something miraculous. 

'Yeah,' she said, checking the baby's chart, 'They tend to. And so long as the doctor gives the okay chances are you can him home later.'

Sherlock didn't say anything, but he flashed the baby that delighted smile that rarely anyone else ever got to see.'

#

There was the sound of running feet on the stairs of 221B and Bea and Hamish burst into the flat, followed a moment later by an out of breath Mrs Hudson.

'We heard you coming back!' Hamish stopped when he saw the car seat that Bill was still in the process of setting down, 'You brought him home!'

Bill nodded, 'He's feeding okay now.'

'And you're a midwife,' Sherlock said flatly, still slightly stung taking it personally that it was Bill's profession and reputation in the hospital that had played a part in the decision.

'It got him home, didn't it.'

'Still haven't decided on a name, dear?' Mrs Hudson leaned over to get a better look.

'I left it to Bill to choose.'

'Potat-' Hamish began but Bill cut him off.

'We thought Angus.'

'Eugh,' Hamish and Beatrice said in unison.

'Angus Murray,' Mrs Husdon said and nodded, 'My ex husband was called Angus.'

At this Hamish and Bea's faces lit up, 'Wasn't he a drug dealer?'

'And a murderer.'

'Actually,' Bill said slowly, 'It's Angus Holmes.'

Mrs Hudson shook her head indulgently, 'Of course it is.'


	77. Chapter 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another light one before an angsty one or two and then the end.

Bill put Hamish to bed and then came down just as Sherlock was feeding Angus. Sherlock had been strangely quiet since Mrs Hudson and Beatrice left. Bill started to ask what was wrong but Sherlock cut him off before he could start speaking.

'Why don't you want him to have your name?' he asked quietly, with just a trace of his usual defensiveness.

That stopped Bill in his tracks and he literally had no idea what to say, 'I just thought-'

'Is there something wrong with him? Have you changed you mind and decided you don't want him?'

Bill sat down opposite Sherlock.

'Is that what you think?'

Sherlock didn't reply, keeping his attention focused on Angus.

'Sherlock look at me,' Bill leaned forward to be closer to Sherlock, but not close enough to crowd him, 'Of course I want him. And I would him to have my name, you know that. But it's not about me.'

'Then what's about?' 

'Hamish,' Bill said simply.

'Hamish?'

Bill nodded, 'He's already had a few wobbles about Angus coming, and he knows that I'm not...well. I don't want him to have any reason at all to feel he's different, and if he has a different name from his brother then that might just...' Bill shrugged, 'It's just a name, Sherlock. And I happily call him Potato Holmes after all if it would keep Hamish feeling happy and secure.'

Sherlock nodded and looked back down at Angus so Bill couldn't read his expression.

Bill got up and kissed the top of Sherlock's head, 'I'll make us some tea and then will you be okay if I nip into the shower?'

'I'm sure I shall cope,' Sherlock replied dryly.

When Bill set Sherlock's cup down beside him he stood and watched him for a moment until Sherlock frowed.

'What?'

'Just looking at you,' Bill said softly, 'You are gorgeous right now.'

If Sherlock was ever questioned about it he would blame hormones or exhaustion, he certainly wouldn't admit that the strange feeling in his chest was the realisation that Bill meant it, just like he meant everything he ever said to Sherlock. This easy going, happy man was as far removed from John Watson as it was possible to get, and Sherlock couldn't understand how he could have loved two people in one life time who were the polar opposites of each other.

And that's probably because he hadn't.

He waited until he could hear the water running in the bathroom before he reached for his mobile with the hand that wasn't supporting Angus.

'Mycroft, I need you to do something for me.'

#

The next day Sherlock got a warning phonecall from Mycroft that his parents were visiting and he groaned. His parents hadn't seen Angus since the day he was born, and only short phonecalls seeking updates had been issued from them. Sherlock was trying not to take it personally.

He was half dozing off on the sofa when he heard Hamish and Bill whispering to each other and then Bill's voice.

'We'll leave him a note.'

A rustle of paper and a muffled giggle and then the door to the flat closed and he could hear two sets of footsteps going down the stairs. He rolled over and reached for the piece of paper on the coffee table and smiled.

'You look like you needed a nap so we've taken The Eater of Souls to see what we can get for him on the black market. Hamish reckons he knows a woman who will know.'

From downstairs he heard Mrs Hudson open her door.

#

Mycroft arrived first and cornered Sherlock while Bill was making tea, 'Are you sure about this, brother dear?'

Sherlock nodded and took the envelop from Mycroft, hiding it among some stacked papers on his desk.

Mycroft was talking about hospital fuding shortages with Bill and Greg was playing on the floor with Beatrice and Hamish while Sherlock was nursing Angus when his mother and father arrived. Violet tutted loudly the moment she came through the door.

'Oh Sherlock,' she said, moving to stand in front of him, blocking him off from everyone else, 'Not in front of other people.'

'What's he doing?' Hamish tried to peer around his grandmother's legs, but she shooed him back.

'You should take him to another room to do that.'

Bill felt Greg's warning hand on his arm.

'Why?'

'It's unsavoury. Other people don't need to see that,' she sniffed, 'I don't see why you have to do that at all.'

'He's hungry,' Sherlock replied coldly.

'If you used formula like I told you to then everyone could have a turn.'

At this Bill stood up, 'He's not a toy, Violet.'

'You don't really think this is okay to do in front of other his son?'

'Our son, and yes, I think it's fine.'

'Surely someone in your profession would think -'

'That it's entirely up to Sherlock how he wants to feed, and formula or breast milk it's all fine. Millions of babies every year are fed either way.'

Violet had winced at the word 'breast' but she drew herself up taller, 'It's not appropriate. You should at least cover up.'

'Mummy-' Mycroft started, but Bill cut him off.

'Violet, I think you should remember that you are in our home and respect the decision of my goregeous fiance to feed our beautiful baby however and wherever he wants to.'

'Fiance?' Siger finally spoke and it was with a smile.

But Violet looked to Mycroft, 'Did you know about that?'

'Yes. And so would you if you'd seen fit to visit before now. It's not exactly news for a text message.'

'Surely you can't agree with your husband watching this?'

'I'm not really interested in Sherlock's nipples to be honest,' Greg tried to lighten the mood.

'His nipples were part of the reason we ended up with Angus in the first place,' Bill smirked at Sherlock who flashed him a cheeky grin. Unlike Mycroft who pandered to them, he'd always struggled to treat his parents with anything more than indifference, but Bill...Bill didn't hold back.

'Why don't you have a seat, Violet,' Greg said starting to get to his feet, 'And I'll get everyone some tea.'

But Bill waved the policeman to sit back down, 'I'll get it. I don't want to be accused of ignoring protocol.'

Bill disapeared into the kitchen followed by Sherlock's shout of 'Don't use the white kettle?'

'Why?' Bill shouted back.

'Just....don't.'

Hamish sniggered which made Sherlock and all the adults in the room suspicious.

'So,' Violet said, seating herself primly on the sofa, 'Angus? Really? Oh Sherlock, first Hamish and now Angus?'

'I like my name,' Hamish piped up from his seat on the floor.

'Griping again, Violet?' came a new voice from the door and both kids looked up.

'Uncle Rudy!' they chanted in unison at the tall, bearded man striding in with four Harrods bags fit to burst.

'What did you bring us?' Hamish asked, being the less subtle of the two older children.

Rudy paused as if considering this for a moment, 'Are you deserving of gifts this week?'

Hamish and Bea shared a look.

'We didn't get banned from anywhere,' Beatrice supplied.

'Mrs Hudson said I was going places,' Hamish said proudly.

Rudy pursed his lips, he wasn't one of the best defence lawyers in the country for nothing.

'What places?' he asked.

'Either Downing Street or Belmarsh.'

Rudy nodded, 'Handy for visiting,' he said and held out two bags which were snatched from him with a chorus of thank you's before the two children retired to a corner to open their spoils.

The lawyer held up the other bags to show Sherlock before setting them down at the side of his chair.

'Why would he possibly need more clothes?'

'But these are from Harrods! 'Thank you Uncle Rudy'!' Rudy mocked, as he shook his head and dropped down into Bill's vacated seat, kicking his long legs out in front of him, 'I'm sorry I'm late, I was in court.'

'Any thing good?' Sherlock asked.

'Breaking and entering,' Rudy sighed, 'Aggravated assault. Nothing fun.'

The man was clearly a Holmes, from his immaculately combed hair and neatly trimmed grey beard to his Saville Row suit and his Louboutin stilletoes that drew a disapproving purse of the mouth from Violet, but thankfully she didn't say anything about them, she had learned long ago to pick her battles where that particular Holmes was involved.

'What does one have to do to get a scotch around here?' he asked.

'You get it yourself,' Bill said coming in from the kitchen with a tray of tea things.

'Please? I had to spend all day dealing with the unwashed masses and my feet are killing me!'

Bill relented and went to fetch the bottle from the cupboard, 'If you think I'm pouring it for you then you can think again.'

Rudy smiled up at him, 'Have we all heard the good news?'

The deathstare Violet gave him would have cut glass, but thankfully the mild mannered Siger was another story and didn't seem at all put out that his brother, who appeared to be a regular visitor to Baker Street had already heard before them.

'It's wonderful, isn't it?'

'Fantastic! I'm afraid I can't stay long today, I'm going shopping with Martha Hudson, she knows some lovely little vintage places where I'm sure I can pick up a nice dress for the wedding.'

Beatrice and Hamish were surrounded by tissue paper, books and toys, but were staring at Rudy with awe.

From the way Greg bit his lip and avoided looking at anyone else in the room, Sherlock knew he wasn't the only one who heard Hamish whisper to Beatrice.

'I want to be a cross-dresser.'


	78. Chapter 78

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> domestication before angst

When Hamish was born Sherlock had barely let go of him for a moment, instead cradling him close to his chest when around others, as if afraid someone was going to try and take him away. He had refused all offers of help, bar the one which saw Lestrade haul the baby furniture up the stairs and then assemble it. He had avoided his family and what could loosely be called friends for the most part, telling himself he wasn't hiding.

He was ferociously protective of his baby, never letting him out his sight and rarely out of his arms. 

Despite being the person he frequently despised most in the world, his older brother was the person he trusted most in the world. But it was almost two months before he surprised Mycroft by handing over Hamish for him to hold. The look of shock, gratitude and love on his brothers face was something Sherlock had shamelessly exploited every day since.

When he'd gone out he'd simply shoved some nappies and a packet of wipes into the inside pockets of his coat, settled Hamish in his sling and gone about his business as usual.

Mrs Hudson would coo and fuss and make tea and call upstairs every day with something 'easy to pop in the microwave. Well...maybe not your microwave. I'll do it in mine and be back in a minute....' But she never tried to overstep. Beyond adjusting a blanket, or a faint lipstick kiss on Hamish's forehead, she never tried to lift him or ask for 'a cuddle' she just waited, knowing Sherlock the way she knew him.

The only exception to any of that, had been Bill.

Perhaps because Bill had been the first one to hold Hamish at all. Perhaps, Sherlock's practical mind tried to supply, because he handled small babies every day. Or perhaps it was just because Bill was the only person who was not trying to step in and tell him what he should be doing, demanding to hold Hamish, constantly try to tell Sherlock what he was doing wrong.

Bill had just...been there.

He turned up most days, at first for just a few minutes, always bringing food. High sugar treats that Sherlock craved and ready cooked meals that he could heat with one hand while holding Hamish in the other. He would ask after Hamish, but he also asked after Sherlock, something no one else seemed to do, and although Sherlock had known that a new baby will always be the centre of attention, he had to admit it was nice to have someone consider him as more than a walking incubator. Not that he cared about such things.

He never probed about Hamish's father, but he answered every one of Sherlock's questions, spoken and non spoken, about Hamish's health and development. But then he would talk about everything else. They discovered that they both knew Molly Hooper, although for different reasons, which lead to several long and thoughtful conversations about medical science. That Bill's world revolved around bringing new life, while most of Sherlock's was about how it ended gave them plenty of scope for topics. Looking back the cynical part of Sherlock thought that Bill was just good at his job, helping to make sure 'mum' was looked after and still felt relevant as a person. But now he knew that was just Bill, he really did care and really was interested in other people. Especially Sherlock.

After a couple of visits he started to make Sherlock tea in the kitchen, and reading him the daily papers while Sherlock nursed. And when Sherlock was nursing Bill looked at Sherlock's face as he spoke, with only the occasional, professional flick of his gaze down to Hamish. Only once, when Hamish was about a week old, and fussing slightly did Bill lean forward.

'May I?'

Sherlock just looked dumbly up at him, not knowing what Bill meant. Bill took that as consent and reached out and shifted Hamish slightly in Sherlock's arms, simulateously using the heel of his hand to move the breast to the other side slightly. The effect was immediate. Hamish felt lighter and after a few moments he settled so much better, feeding until he dozed off. 

'Well anyone could learn that-' Sherlock began.

'Yeah, and now you have,' Bill winked and left for his shift.

Sherlock had not realised how much he enjoyed these welfare visits/sparring competitions with the midwife until the day after when Bill was on a double shift and Sherlock had no one to speak to except Hamish, especially as Mrs Hudson was out all day doing the 'big shop.' He had paced the flat, first with Hamish, explaining coordinate covalent bonds to him, and then, when Hamish was sleeping peacefully in his cot, Sherlock took to pacing the flat alone, his mind full of sarcastic things to say to the absent midwife.

It wasn't until the following morning there was a knock on the door. Sherlock opened it, still in his ratty pyjamas, Hamish's vomit in his hair, to find Bill Murray standing there, two coffee's and a takeaway bag from Speedy's that clearly contained a sausage and egg bap. 

Sherlock hadn't slept or eaten properly since the previous morning and he eyed the bag with a sort of desperate want as Bill held it out.

'Eat up,' he said, 'And then I wondered if you fancied a walk?'

'A walk?' Sherlock froze where he was standing.

'Yeah, it's what bipeds tend to do.'

'I'm not dressed.'

'I see that. I wasn't thinking anywhere far, just up to the park and around the boating lake maybe. I'll buy you an ice cream.'

Sherlock pulled a face at him, but suddenly, after nearly two weeks of confinement, the idea of getting back out into London again, even if it was only the leafy, subdued, geese ridden part of it, was too much of a temptation.

'I need to dress.'

'Okay.'

'But-' Sherlock looked down at Hamish.

Bill held his hands out, an offering, not a demand, and without a second's pause, Sherlock transferred his tiny son into Bill's arms before heading off to dress as fast as he could.

When he came back out Bill was sitting in what was John's old armchair, Hamish asleep against his shoulder as Bill flicked through the paper one handed. The scene was so domesticated, so...normal, that it took Sherlock by surprise.

He didn't remember much else about that day. He remembered the seemingly endless number of elderly couples who stopped to admire the sleeping Hamish in his sling, and Bill's easy laugh at Sherlock's deductions. He remembered Bill walking him to the door of 221, still laughing at something Sherlock had said about a couple of office workers who were 'clearly having an affair.'

And he remembered thinking that this obnoxious, cheerful, obsessively optimistic, irritating man had just marched into his life. And he remembered how he hoped he didn't leave.

#

'Time for a cuddle!' Violet held out her arms expectantly and only Bill saw the look of distress on Sherlock's face at the thought of someone else, even his own mother, holding his baby.

'He's drifted off, Violet,' Bill said softly.

'Oh, so he won't notice then,' she said, and Bill, and possibly Sherlock, might have agreed had she not then snapped her fingers.

'He needs to sleep, not be manhandled.' Sherlock responded with slightly more force than was probably necessary.

'I'm not going to drop him!' Violet huffed, still reaching for Angus.

'You dropped Sherrinford.'

It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and the silence that followed rang loudly.

'Sherlock!' Siger warned quietly, but Sherlock was already on his feet, Angus clutched protectively to his chest as Violet started to cry.

'Sherlock that was uncalled for,' Mycroft said.

Greg kept his head bowed and said nothing. But Sherlock was defiant, glaring at his mother until his father intervened.

'Sherlock, how could you?' and then he followed Violet who had fled to the bathroom.

'Was that really necessary, Sherlock?' Mycroft asked as soon as they heard the door shut.

'Yes,' Sherlock said, jutting his chin defiantly.

Bill traded glances with Greg. It was rare for either of the Holmes brothers to acknowledge the existence of their other brother, let alone so openly.

'Well,' Rudy leaned back in his seat, 'That was awkward.'

'Rudy-' Mycroft began, but Rudy waved his hand,

'Don't. It just devalues the whole thing.'

'But-'

'She did drop him, Mycroft. She'd been drinking and she dropped him. It's a fact, nephew dear, and neither time nor perspective changes that.' he nodded towards Hamish and Beatrice who were doing their utmost to look disinterested, 'Time enough for lies.'

Angus started to fuss against Sherlock's chest.

'I have to put him down,' he said

'I'll do it, love, you drink your tea.' Bill gently lifted Angus from Sherlock and carried him through to his and Sherlock's room where his cot was.

This easy familiarity was not missed by any of the more astute adults in the room, and Mycroft felt the briefest brush of Greg's fingers across his ankle, even though Greg didn't look up from the book Hamish had been showing him.

When Bill returned he placed the monitor beside Sherlock, knowing that Sherlock worried more than he did. The lights on the monitor flashed in different sequences and every few seconds emitted an almost inaudible blip sound that seemed to settle Sherlock.

'Oh, that's fancy,' Greg piped up from his seat on the floor, 'That one of those movement sensor thingys?'

'It's a sensor mat,' Sherlock lifted his tea cup, 'Monitors breathing, pulse rate and movement.'

'An alarm sounds if there's a problem,' Bill added, settling himself on the arm of Sherlock's chair.

'Very fancy,' Siger said, nodding, 'We never had anything like that when the boys were small.'

'We use them on the neonatal ward,' Bill offered, 'They are a brilliant thing in themselves, but with budget and staff cuts they've been a complete god send to be honest.'

'It's very clever,' Siger fished his glasses out of his cardigan pocket and got up to look more closely at the monitor, 'And what do all these lights mean?'

As Bill explained how the monitor worked to his soon to be father in law, Greg leaned back against Mycroft's legs and was both surprised and pleased when the politician ran his fingers through his hair - Mycroft was not known for his outward displays of affection. Rudy was helping Beatrice with a block puzzle while Hamish was trying to show Violet his book about 1700's serial killers.

There was a waft of ginger and hot sugar and a shout of 'Cooee' which caused Mycroft to roll his eyes, the children to scramble to their feet, and Rudy to straighten his tie.

'I'm only nipping in to ask if someone can help Molly up the stairs, she has rather a lot of bags....oh, Rudy, is that a new blusher!'

Bill raced down to help Molly who finally entered breathless and apologetic.

'Don't worry,' she said when she caught Sherlock's expression, 'It's not livers or anything,' she laughed nervously, 'It's just some old text books I promised-'

'Thank you Molly!' came the dual reply as the bags were snatched away.

'Okay then,' Molly nodded to herself and looked lost for a moment, and then her hand was captured by a small one and she was pulled down so Hamish could plant a kiss on her cheek before racing off.

It took Molly a few moments to compose herself properly after that, but even before she did she smiled at Sherlock, 'He obviously gets his manners from Bill.'

The afternoon passed.

#

 

Before....

Before his childhood was turned upside down...

Before Sherrinford....

Before Eurus....

Before....

Before John....

....before .......

Before all of that when he was still just William, still waiting for,....something. Before he fully understood all the things that made him different weren't his fault. Before he became Sherlock, before he needed to. He was just....just a lonely boy.

For most of his life all he had was Mycroft, and as much as he tended to run him down, he knew he wouldn't be the person he was, wouldn't have survived any of it, had it not been for the constant and unstoppable force that was Mycroft. His brother was good at playing down everything he did, and Sherlock was good at pretending he didn't know or care. 

And now, sitting here, in HIS home, celebrating HIS child were people he had found and surrounded himself with. That he had picked and who had picked him too.

Even outside of the small flat he knew there were others who cared, who he could, perhaps, call friends. The insufferable Anthea who made everything in life run just that little more smoothly and knew exactly when she was needed, and when she wasn't, Mrs Turner next door who, along with her tenants (and most of Greater London) was enamored by Hamish and always happy to watch him for an hour when work loads clashed at 221. DI Dimmock, usually the butt of jokes at the yard had been quietly sympathetic and a constant source of antacids and had developed an uncanny ability to know exactly when to shout loudly for the team to look at something on the other side of a crime scene as Sherlock had thrown up behind a bin. The mighty Kovačić, who got his tiny Croatian mother to cook batch after batch of punjena paprika because that was what Sherlock was craving at 3am - all packaged in brown paper and hand delivered. Bill's old flatmates, Brian and Cassie who called over a couple of times a week, always full of fun and laughter and seemed to have Bill's immunity to Sherlock's rudeness. Tobi Gregson who had called him in on an international hacking case and made a point of buying lunch every day for the whole five weeks it took, and then sending sandwiches to the flat for the first week after Angus was allowed home. Mike Stamford who had visited at hospital and gushed over Angus and who had paid for a massive Tesco delivery which now meant they had enough tinned food for survive the Apocalypse. 

When he'd had Hamish he had shut himself away, the only person in that room who had even known he was in labour had been Bill, and he hadn't even known Bill then. When he'd had Hamish he had been so afraid, of everyone, everything, and so, so determined that he could do it all on his own that he shut the door on everyone else. He'd avoided his parents because he knew what his mother was like.

But now....

Now there was Bill, encouraging his friends and family and bringing new people into Sherlock's life and embracing those already there. Six years ago Sherlock had brought Hamish home to an empty flat all alone. Now, he had brought Angus home to wide smiles and a flat full of love. It was a strange and overwhelming experience. And he knew the reason. He knew that it was because of Bill.

Bill hadn't brought these people, he hadn't forced their presence onto Sherlock, he'd just helped Sherlock welcome them into his life. He knew when Sherlock needed company, and he knew when he needed to be alone and would never force the issue either way. He was a constant in Sherlock's life now, and he brought with him the ability to welcome others too.

John would never have done that. The only people John ever brought along were his girlfriends. His friends did not socialise with Sherlock at all and never crossed the threshold. 221B had always been a lonely place, even when John was home, and at the time Sherlock thought that was what he wanted, what he needed.

Alone protects me.

And then along came Bill and he turned everything upside down.

Sherlock looked across the room to find Bill watching him thoughtfully. He nodded curtly and Bill quirked the side of his mouth into a smile.

This was his life now.


	79. Chapter 79

'Is that what really happened to Uncle Ford?' Hamish asked as he climbed into bed, 'Did Gran drop him?'

Sherlock sat on the end of his son's bed and after a moment he nodded.

'Is that why is the way he is?' Hamish asked.

Sherrinford had been another part of Sherlock's life that Bill had made a little better. After years of not seeing or speaking to his brother, Bill had encouraged him to visit. And now, every Thursday without fail they took Hamish to see his uncle at the residential care home he had lived in since childhood.

Bill had also gone with him to visit Eurus, who had considered him thoughtfully in complete silence. They hadn't taken Hamish to see her yet, but Hamish was rather enamored by Sherrinford, and Sherrinford was particularly animated when Hamish came to visit.

'She didn;'t mean to drop him,' Sherlock said eventually.

'But she did.'

'Yes.'

'Is that why you won';t let her hold Potato?'

'Your brother isn't called Potato.'

'I think you'll find he is.'

'And no, that's no....I just...it was the same when you were a baby, I didn't want anyone else holding you either.'

'Except Daddy?'

Sherlock smiled and pulled the quilt over Hamish, 'Well your Daddy is the exception to a lot of rules.'

'Can we take Potato with us to see Uncle Ford this week?'

'Yes.'

'And to the yard? Tobi said she'd show me and Bea how to get past keystroke programmes.'

'Yeah, she's helpful like that,' Sherlock pulled a face.

'And Donovan's probably forgotten about last time,' Hamish added hopefully.

'Doubt that.'

'What does Children of the Corn mean?'

On the stairs Bill laughed quietly into his hand.

#

Mycroft tried to ignore the sounds of Gregory heaving. It had been the same every couple of hours for the last few weeks. At first he'd tried to help, and then, when Gregory didn't seem to be getting any better, he'd tried to get the policeman to see his doctor, which had resulted in an argument.

Lately Gregory was paler than normal, although he had been working more than usual too. He'd put his health down to a combination of workload and too many dodgy lunches from the staff canteen. He hadn't said anything about it until Mycroft brought it up, but Mycroft had noticed the small incisions on his arm.

'You had your implant removed,' he'd said.

'Yeah. It wasn't agreeing with me,' Gregory had poured another coffee.

'Are...are you going back to the injections again?' Mycroft asked, quietly hoping that there had been a reconsideration.

'No,' Gregory said, and that was the end of the conversation.

In moments of fancy he'd wondered, hoped perhaps, if Gregory was pregnant. But he'd never been sick with Laurence or Beatrice, and he would have told Mycroft surely.

The bathroom door opened and Gregory came out, surprised to see Mycroft waiting there.

'Do you need anything?' Mycroft asked.

Gregory shook his head.

'I-'

'Probably should stop eating Sherlock's cooking,' Gregory said, overly cheerful, as he passed Mycroft.

Mycroft watched him go, the sense that Gregory was lying to him heavy in his chest.


	80. Chapter 80

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanna find out what's in the envelope?

Since Christmas when their marriage almost ended, Mycroft had allowed himself to be more affectionate even in public. And his renewed interest had ensured a very healthy sex life since then, something both men had enjoyed. But in recent weeks Gregory had been distant and uninterested and they were rarely in bed at the same time, and that was before considering Gregory's workload and the flu-like sickness he'd picked up.

For the first time in a long time they went to bed together. Mycroft snaked his arm around Gregory and kissed the back of his neck and was surprised and hurt when Gregory shrugged him off.

'I'm not in the mood, Myc,' the policeman said, pulling the covers tightly around him.

#

In Baker Street Bill walked through to the living room with two mugs of tea and stopped when he saw Sherlock standing in the middle of the floor, a large manila envelope in his hands. 

After a moment of silence Sherlock thrust the envelope at Bill.

'If this is an eviction notice then I swear....oh!'

Sherlock bit his lip as he took in Bill's reaction, 'Is it okay?'

'This is....of course it's okay. Jesus!' Bill's eyes filled with tears, 'But you can't just do this?'

'Mycroft can though,' Sherlock said.

'And what does Hamish-'

'We talked about it,' Sherlock cut him off, 'It was his idea. It just took me a while to get around to it.'

'Is it even legal?'

'It's as legal as Mycroft tells them it is.'

Bill laughed, 'That is both reassuring and terrifying.'

There was a soft sound from the top of the stairs and then Hamish's voice, 'Well, what did he say?'

'I'm still waiting to hear. Your father isn't exactly known for his concise responses.' Sherlock shouted back and Bill covered his mouth with his hands to smother his laughter.

'Are you sure?'

Sherlock nodded without a second's hesitation, 'I'm sure.'

'But, he's-'

'Yours.'

'Oh shit,' Bill breathed.

'Why is he swearing?' Hamish shouted.

'I think it's because he's just realised that he's legally responsible for you now.'

Hamish's laugh did not inspire confidence in the midwife who shook his head as he tried to take everything in.

'He's mine?'

'He's always been yours.'

Bill wasn't even trying to stop the tears as he looked back down at the contents of the envelope.

 

_'Certified Copy of an Entry._

_Registration district: City of Westminster_

_Child: Hamish Holmes-Murray, 4 March_

_Parents: William Sherlock Scott Holmes, 6 January, 221B Baker Street, London,W1 and_

_William Mark Murray, 12 August, 221B Baker Street, London, W1'_


	81. Chapter 81

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can't say you weren't warned

'Jesus Christ, Greg, you look like shit!' Bill stood up and guided Greg to a chair.

'If that's your idea of flirting then you have a lot to learn,' Greg tried to smile but couldn't quite manage it.

But Bill was already strapping on a blood pressure cuff, his professional persona firmly in place. He recorded various vitals on Greg's file and then shook his head.

'I'll be blunt, Greg, you're in a real fucking state.'

Greg didn't respond, and it looked to Bill like the policeman was having enough difficulty sitting upright.

'When was the last time you ate anything?'

'Nothing is staying down right now,' Greg admitted.

'Nothing?'

Greg shrugged, 'You know how it is.'

'Yeah,' Bill nodded, 'I do.' he frowned, 'Are you keeping fluids down?'

'Sometimes.'

'Right,' Bill was on his feet and heading for the door, 'You're losing weight and you are far too dehydrated. You're going to have to stay in.'

'No.'

'I'm sorry, did that sound like a bloody request?'

'I can't, Bill. Honestly, it's not that bad. I'm just tired. I've been working too-'

'Bullshit!'

'I've been working a lot,' Greg repeated slowly and as steadily as he could manage,' And the baby-'

'You haven't told Mycroft yet, have you?'

Greg's silence said everything.

'Bloody hell. You need to tell him!'

'I will, I just need some more time to make sure it's all going to be okay.'

At Greg's words Bill closed his eyes and hated himself for what he was about to say.

'Greg, you know what I think about this. My advice hasn't changed.'

'It's not as bad as it seems.'

'How many times have you been sick today?'

'...a couple.'

'I want you to stay in overnight, at the very least get some fluids into you before you collapse,' Bill opened the door to go and get the paperwork to get Greg admitted. He was gone less than a minute, but when he got back the room was empty and Greg wasn't answering his phone.

#

Greg sat at his desk and tried to focus on the paperwork in front of him, but the words seemed to be swimming across the page and he had to concentrate to make any letters out at all. It wasn't helped by his pounding headache and the pain in his throat and stomach from heaving so much earlier in the day. Some people might blossom in pregnancy, but Greg was definitely not one of them. 

That said, he couldn't remember being this ill before. Nothing was staying down, not for long anyway. And despite being constantly thirsty he couldn't drink more than a mouthful of water otherwise he would be throwing it up five minutes later.

And he was exhausted. Dear God was he exhausted. That kind of bone deep tiredness that makes even the most gentle of tasks seem Herculean in practice. He moved around as little as possible. Quite aside from the need to be close to a toilet or sick bag at all times, being on his feet made him dizzy, and climbing the stairs or walking more than fifty feet left him short of breath with a pain in his chest and a hammering heart that required him to sit down until it passed.

But it was keeping up appearances in front of Mycroft that was really tiring him out. For the first time Greg was pleased that Mycroft had a large consultation project on and was working late hours so he didn't have to pretend too often. Likewise Bill had been very understanding and Beatrice was spending a lot of time at Baker Street to let Greg rest.

'Sir?' Donovan stuck her head around the door, 'We're wanted in the Super's office. He's bitching about overti- are you alright, sir?'

Greg tried to nod but it made him feel sick so he gave it up as a bad job and stood. Or at least he tried to, his body wouldn't cooperate and his limbs felt like they weren't under his control at all. He couldn't seem to make his legs take his weight and nothing felt entirely real, like he was too far away from everything around him. He reached his hand out to steady himself against his desk, misjudged the distance and stumbled slightly before Donovan caught him.

'Sir?' she asked, but her voice strangely loud in his ears. Greg tried to focus on her but couldn't, 'Sir? Gre-'

#

'Yes? What do you want?' Mycroft sighed when Anthea walked into his office.

'Sir,' she said carefully, 'There's been an emergency.'

'Hmm, hmm?'

'At home, sir.'

At that Mycroft snapped his head up, everything else driven out of his mind, 'Beatrice?'

Anthea shook her head, 'Detective Inspector Lestrade, sir. He's in hospital.'

'Hospital?' Mycroft asked weakly, his heart beating too fast and his skin feeling suddenly far too cold.

'He had some sort of seizure at work.'

Mycroft reeled back in his chair, took one steadying breath and then he was on his feet and heading for the door.

'The car should be outside, the driver has the details.'

Mycroft nodded dumbly at her and then paused, but Anthea was, as always, way ahead of him.

'I'll make sure Miss Beatrice is taken care of.'

Mycroft opened his mouth to thank her but nothing came out. So he just nodded and practically ran to the waiting car.


	82. Chapter 82

'No! Sit!' Bill grabbed Mycroft by the arm and forced him towards the chairs.

'William-'

'Listen,' Bill leaned in close, ' Greg...Greg's been seeing me for a couple of months now. He's...he's pregnant.'

For the first time in his life Bill watched someone else's heart break.

'Okay,' Mycroft nodded, 'I'll...I'll move to the Belgravia house and...and I'll make sure there's-'

'Mycroft, what the fuck are you on about?'

'When the baby comes it'll need, you'll need...have you told Sherlock?'

The silence that followed echoed loudly, broken only when Bill laughed, 'My god! You didn't? Christ! Mycroft...do you see Sherlock wearing my testicles as earrings? No? Then you can be sure I'm not cheating on him. Especially not with your husband.'

'But-'

'Don't get me wrong, Greg is all kinds of sexy, but I love your brother.'

'So you're not-'

'No! And don't you ever tell him you thought that!' Bill sighed, 'He's terrified. I.. I told him he shouldn't have another baby, but you know what he's like.'

'You...where is he?'

'Sit down!' Bill repeated, 'I need you to listen to me! Greg is really ill. Do you know what hyperemesis is? It's like extreme morning sickness. Greg....Greg is massively dehydrated. He's lost a huge amount of weight and his body is struggling,.'

'He...he didn't have that before.'

'Well he has it now.'

Bill took a deep breath.

'Mycroft, I told him not to have this baby.'

'What?'

'He's...his insides are a mess. His age and...his chances of keeping the baby are, have always been slim. And that was before the hyperemesis. Mycroft....he's dying.'

'But...no!'

'He's hugely dehydrated, his his heart rate is double what it should be. He's lost a massive amount of weight....his...his body is starting to shut down. He's having hallucinations, seizures, his heart is struggling, his liver and kidneys aren't functioning. Mycroft....you need to be ready to make a decision.'

'Decision?'

Bill nodded, 'Your husband or your baby.'


	83. Chapter 83

Despite Bill's warning, Mycroft was in now prepared for what he saw when he entered Greg's room. His husband was in bed, his skin grey and his eyes sunken, two IV bags were attached to his arm and a heart rate monitor was red numbers at him which even to Mycroft's inexperiernced eye seemed much too fast.

 

'We're trying to get as much fluid into him as possible,' Bill said softly, 'But he's bad, Mycroft, I'm not going to lie to you.'

 

'Has he woken up at all?'

 

'No. Not yet. His body is exhausted.'

 

'Is he in pain?'

 

Bill nodded, 'Yeah. If he's bad enough to be having seizures then he's in pain, and he mentioned his chest and stomach hurting the other day, although part of that will be the constant heaving. They'll check his throat and stomach as soon as he stops vomiting for long enough, the last thing we want is him choking.'

 

'Why would that need done?'

 

'Because he's had nothing but acid in his stomach for months and he is literally starving. He threw up blood earlier.'

 

'I thought you said he hadn't woken up?'

 

'He hasn't,' Bill was professional but grim, which Mycroft appreciated.

 

'What else-?' he started but found he couldn't finish.

 

'His heart is working overtime and it can't cope, as soon as he can tolerate it his consultant will be able to prescribe him something that might. Right now he's had a painkiller and he's been started on a course of droperidol-diphenhydramine intraveneously which should help with the nausea. He'd already been taking promethazine but he wasn't reacting well to it and obviously it wasn't working for him. As soon as possible he'll have dietry supplements, but if his throat is damaged it might have to be a feeding tube for a couple of days, but they'll know better when that's checked. In the meantime he's booked in for a brain scan this morning.'

 

'And...the...the baby?'

 

Bill bit his lip, not wanting to give Mycroft false hope having already seen the disapointment of lost children.

 

'Surprisingly hardy it seems, but that belt around him is monitoring the heartbeat and we'll give him regular ultrasounds to keep track of things,' Mycroft nodded at Bills response and Bill felt he needed to offer him some reassurance before what he said next, 'I'll do them myself, but if you want someone else then I won't be offened.'

 

'I..thank you.'

 

'Mycroft I need to make this really clear to you, people die from this.'

 

'But with modern medicine-?'

 

'We can do a lot, and we could have done more if the stubborn bastard hadn't been hiding it so well,' something which Bill would feel guilty about for the rest of his life.

 

'I didn't notice,' Mycroft said quietly.

 

'Neither did I, and I'm trained to.'

 

'I noticed he'd lost weight, but he's been working a lot and...Bill, you said months...how many?'

 

Bill paused for a moment before answering, 'Five.'

 

'Five?'

 

'He wasn't big with Beatrice either, so that means nothing, and he's lost so much weight that...he's only really starting to show now.'

 

'What happens when the baby comes...if it...?'

 

'Mycroft I have to tell you something honestly. I've been advising him from the start to have a termination.'

 

Mycroft's eyes opened wider but he said nothing.

 

'His age was already a factor, and with his history...this was always going to be a high risk pregnancy, even without this. He didn#t have this before?'

 

Mycroft shook his head, 'He was ill with Laurence but not so much with Beatrice. I don't understand.'

 

'Sometimes it just happens like that. But there's something else, if, and I mean if he makes it to term then he cannot be allowed to labour. He won't cope with it, so he needs a section whether he likes it or not, which means he's going to need much more help and support from all of us. Look,' Bill lowered his voice slightly, 'I'm not trying to scare you. Most people have no long term problems, but most people don't let themselves get to the point where they are having seizures and vomiting blood either.'

 

Mycroft nodded his understanding. And Bill gave him a tight smile.

 

'I have to do my rounds, but I'll be back, and hopefully by then he'll have had his brain scan and his doctor will have a better idea of where things stand.'

 

'Thank you,' Mycroft said again as Bill left. He stared down at Gregory for a long time, taking in how exhausted he looked even in sleep, his eyes drifting to the rounded stomach he was only noticing for the first time.

 

'Oh, Gregory.' he sighed and sat down to wait.


	84. Chapter 84

When Bill walked through the door of the flat Sherlock took one look at his exhausted face and did something that until a few short years ago he would have never been able to imagine himself doing. He set his violin down and crossed the floor to pull Bill into his arms.

Bill immediately buried his face into the crook of Sherlock's neck, breathing in his scent and letting the other man support him.

'How is Lestrade?' Sherlock asked eventually.

Bill pulled back and nodded, 'Awake. Talking. Exhausted. Mycroft was lecturing him when I left.'

'And you?'

'I'll lecture him when I go in tomorrow morning.'

Sherlock frowned at him in annoyance, and then leaned forward and brushed a kiss across Bill's lips.

'What was that for?' Bill asked.

'Must you question every one of my actions?'

'Unless I'm sure of your motives then yeah. I still haven't forgiven you for letting me eat those pork chops.'

'They weren't pork chops.'

'Well, I know that now!' But Bill was smiling, even if the smile was sad and strained, 'How are the kids?'

'Asleep.'

'All of them?' Bill asked suspiciously, 'At the same time?'

'I didn't drug them.'

'I didn't say you had.'

'But you were thinking it.'

'Do you blame me?'

Sherlock's eyes were wide and his expression one of genuine hurt, 'I would never-'

'Sherlock,' Bill pulled him close, 'I know. I know. I was joking. I know you'd never do anything like that to them.'

He held Sherlock until he felt the detective relax again.

'You didn't say anything to Bea?'

'Of course not.'

'Good. Time enough for that tomorrow. They might even be able to go and see Greg if he's up to it. He kept asking for 'the' kids. I think he forgets that only one of them is his.'

'You do that too.'

Bill smiled, 'I think we all do. Which is either wonderful or creepily co-de-pendant. Like one of those weird cults you read about trashy magazines.'

'Trust you to read trashy magazines.'

'Hey, I work on a maternity ward, trashy mags and chocolate digestives are what keep us all going at 3am.'

Sherlock smirked, 'That's not all that keeps you going at 3am.'

'Oh, that's not fair, Mr Holmes! Teasing like that when I'm too tired and you're not healed enough to do anything about it.'

'Oh well,' Sherlock shrugged, 'I'm sure the weeks will just fly by.'

'I hate you,' Bill said, but he was smiling, and he kissed Sherlock again very softly. They were interrupted by the start of a cry from their room and broke apart.

Sherlock in parent mode was truly something to behold. In all other aspects of his life he was alternately obsessive, disinterested or erratic, but his children...in all his years as a midwife Bill had never seen anyone look at their children quite like Sherlock did. 

While Sherlock collected Angus, Bill put the kettle on and threw some leftovers in the microwave before he went to check on Hamish and Bea, who were having an impromptu sleepover.

He noticed that Hamish had made a new sign for his bedroom door. What had once read simply 'Hamish' now read 'Hamish and Potato Holmes-Murray. No girls (excepts Bea's)' and was rather heavy on the glitter.

Hamish was starfished at one end of the bed and Beatrice at the other. Rudy's latest presents had included another set of matching pyjamas for the two young children, a sort of fleecey all in one number that reminded Bill of one of Angus's babygros. He adjusted their blankets before returning downstairs to finish the tea and retrieve his dinner from the microwave, looking forward to a quiet hour or two with Sherlock before they retired to bed. Sherlock was already settled in his armchair and didn't even look up as Bill came through the room.

'I require biscuits!'


	85. Chapter 85

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Food and Wine shops are all over the place in Central London and are literally what they sound like - imagine a small corner shop that sells wine, sweets and Fray Bentos pies and you on the right lines. They also never seem to close and an absolute godsend when we're working and can't be bothered to travel the extra ten minutes to Tesco.

'Can we take Uncle Greg a present?' Hamish asked when Bill and Sherlock explained that Greg was in hospital but not the reason why.

'I don't see why not,' Bill shrugged, 'We can stop at the shop on the way. What do you think he would like?'

'Beer,' Hamish supplied.

'And cigarettes,' Beatrice added, her serious face still too pale from the news.

'Doughnuts.'

'Oranges.'

'Shouting at referees.'

'Kissing Daddy.'

Bill smiled, 'Well, I think we can arrange about half of those things. What do you think Sherlock?'

'I have no desire to witness Mycroft kiss anyone.'

'You kiss Bill,' Beatrice pointed out.

'Yes, but that does not make me want to vomit up the contents of my stomach.'

Bill clapped his hands and stood up, 'Alright, shoes on and let's go.'

While Sherlock vanished outside to hail a taxi, Bill supervised the two older children and then picked up Angus's bag and followed them. He'd promised Greg that he would pick up a few things from his office that he wanted and Sherlock was anxious to collect some files from one of the few other DI's who would still work with him, so when they reached the yard Sherlock strode off with Angus strapped to his chest and Bill took Hamish and Beatrice with him to Greg's office.

#

'What do you mean you can't find them?' Sherlock was wide eyed with worry.

'I turned my back to two seconds and the little shits had vanished. I've been looking- oh hang on,' Bill answered a call on his phone, 'You have? They're where? Okay.' he hung up and looked at Sherlock, 'Do you know where the holding cells are?'

#

'Care to tell me exactly what happened?' Mycroft asked.

'Well, one of the constables recognised them and handed them over to the desk sergeant who decided it was in everyone's best interest to lock them up until they could get hold of us. But by the time we got there they had managed to get out and had vanished again.' Bill started.

Mycroft looked down at the two children standing before him.

'Fortunately, upon their escape they went straight back to Lestrade's floor,' Sherlock was still looking angry and worried, but desperately trying not to.

'Where they stood on Dimmock's desk demanding freedom for the 'Mayfair Two' until Sally Donovan gave them Kitkats.' Bill added.

'She handcuffed us together!' Hamish was outraged.

'Which was very intelligent of her,' Sherlock frowned, 'For once.'

Mycroft considered the two children carefully, 'Would you care to explain how exactly you managed to escape from a holding cell.'

Beatrice wriggled her fingers, 'Tiny hands.'

And that was all either child was prepared to say on the matter. Mycroft sighed and looked to his brother.

'Is there a reason you felt it necessary to take them to Scotland Yard with you?'

'Mrs Hudson wouldn't babysit.'

'Why not?'

'She said we were little rascals,' Hamish replied.

'Um, that's not quite the term she used though,' Bill was doing his best to look serious, 'And you still have to apologise to her when you get home later.'

'Do we have to?'

'If you ever want her to make you biscuits again, then yes,' Sherlock said.

Hamish and Beatrice shared a look and then nodded at the three adults.

'Can I put this watermelon down now?' Hamish asked.

'Yes, why are you carrying a watermelon, Hamish?' Mycroft looked perplexed.

'We brought Daddy some of his favourite things to make him feel better.' Beatrice supplied.

'Although we had to go to the Food and Wine because we're still banned from Tesco, so it's a bit of a random mix.'

'Define random.'

'Do you mind if we don't?' Bill asked, eliciting a smile from Sherlock for the first time in hours.

'Can we see him now?' Hamish and Bea demanded in unison.

Mycroft nodded and the two children darted through the door to Greg's room.

'Hello you two!' Greg's voice drifted out, 'What have you been up to?'

'We broke out of the clink!' Hamish declared cheerfully.

In the hallway Mycroft groaned.


	86. Chapter 86

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The conversations that happened when Lestrade woke up - as requested.

When Greg came around he knew that Mycroft was there before he opened his eyes. He could feel his familiar presence, smell the colonge he wore. He tried to smile. But then as the room came into focus, stark, while, monitors and the bitter smell of antiseptic he realised he was in hospital.

He and Mycroft looked at each other in silence for a long time until Greg spoke.

'You're angry.'

Mycroft nodded, 'Yes. But probably not for the reasons you think.'

There was a pause as Greg allowed Mycroft to read everything in his expression.

'You had a seizure at work yesterday. You're so dehydrated and malnourished that your body is shutting down. Don't ever hide something that from me again.'

'Which part?'

'Any of it. You could have told me. You should have told me!'

'I know. This year has just been such a mess. How...is...?'

'Bill assures me that it's fine,' Mycroft said quietly, and Greg closed his eyes in relief, 'The term he used was surprisingly hearty.'

Greg smiled slightly, feeling Mycroft's eyes on him. And then the smile faded and he opened his eyes again to focus on his husband.

'Are you...okay with this?'

Pursing his lips slightly Mycroft shook his head, 'No. I am in no way happy about my husband hiding how ill he was and ending up in hospital.'

'Mycroft-'

'And I'm not happy that you forced Bill to keep this a secret for months. Or that, despite medical advice you persisted with this pregnancy knowing the risks it posed.'

Greg's heart sank, 'You don't-'

'I do!' Mycroft cut across him, 'Of course I do. I want it. But I need you!'

And it was then that Greg realised what that look on Mycroft's face was. It was something he had rarely ever seen in the politician. It was fear.

'Mycroft,' he began, but then the door opened and Bill strode in in his uniform, clipboard in one hand.

'Alright Myc, fuck off. I need to yell at your husband about what an idiot he is and then do some intimate things to him that I really don't want you watching.'

'I would rather stay. And I have seen examinations before.'

'Ah, no, because you need to walk your Saville Row ass out there and phone that sexy beast you call your brother and tell him I'm on my last patient of the day and if that severed foot is still where I found it this morning then my tongue is going nowhere near his arse hole until Christmas.'

Greg couldn't help the snort that erupted, which was made worse by the two pink spots that appeared on Mycroft's cheeks as he opened and closed his mouth twice before nodding and leaving the room.

As the door closed behind him the atmosphere in the room suddenly changed and Bill was frowning.

'If you weren't pregnant I'd punch you right now.'

'Bill, just don't. I've already had this from Mycroft.'

'Yeah, and have you thought about what I was supposed to tell him if something worse happened to you? What should I have told Bea? I agreed to keep your secret and you fucking lied to me about how bad you were getting. Do you understand that people have died from this? Do you have any idea how fucking close you came yesterday?'

'I'll be fine. I just need some sleep and a few days off work and-'

'Do you not understand? You need to stay here! For a month, at least. Maybe longer.'

'A month?' Greg said weakly.

'Yeah,' Bill huffed out a frustrated breath, 'Because you are going to need fluids, and feeding and to be strapped to that fucking monitor 24 / 7 until I am certain that you aren't going to drop dead on me.'

'You don't need to worry about me.'

'It's not you I'm worried about!' Bill shouted and he stepped closer to Greg's bed, 'It's having to see that expression I saw on Mycroft's face yesterday again. So don't you dare fucking do that to me.'

Greg rarely saw Bill angry, but he could also see that underneath the anger was concern and he nodded.

'Lovely bedside manner you have there.'

Bill's mouth twitched into a slight smile as he pulled on his gloves, 'Shut your mouth and open your legs.'


	87. Chapter 87

When it came to the Holmes men Bill knew when to pick his battles, and this was not one of those times.

'Fine! But you have to wear pants.'

Hamish flashed him a grin and darted off to his room, thundering back down the stairs a moment later to do a twirl and an impromptu hula in the middle of the living room, just as Sherlock came through the door, Angus strapped snuggly against his chest as Sherlock insisted it was 'just easier' to take the baby everywhere with him while nursing. He paused and looked at his eldest son and then at his boyfriend.

'Is there something I should know?'

'There's nothing in the rules about it,' Hamish said fiercely in a way that reminded Sherlock far too much of John, 'I did check!'

'He really did,' Bill backed him up.

'Right,' Sherlock took in Hamish's new school skirt with interest, 'Is this one of those lifestyle things I'm supposed to know about.'

Hamish wriggled his hips, 'It's breezy! And I'm wearing pants! Daddy insisted,' he added with a slight hint of resentment in his voice.

Sherlock considered Hamish, unruly, tan curls sticking out at all angles, hands balled into fists at his sides, jaw set in a defiant expression and he felt something strange that he couldn't quite name that had him blinking rapidly.

'Hey,' Bill said softly as he helped Sherlock shrug out of his coat, 'Where did you go?'

'What do you mean? I've been right here!'

'You zoned out about fifteen minutes ago and haven't moved since.'

Sherlock's eyes darted about the room, and then clutched a hand to his chest.

'Where's Hamish? Where's Angus?'

'Calm down,' Bill soothed, laying the coat over the back of a chair, 'I unstrapped Angus and he's in his cot. Hamish has gone to the bingo with Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner.'

The sudden panic that had engulfed Sherlock subsided and he darted to check on Angus before returning just as quickly and busying himself at the desk. Bill was still standing by the chair and Sherlock could feel his eyes on him. Eventually it got too much.

'Since you clearly have nothing better to do than loiter, perhaps you could make yourself useful and make some tea.'

Bill didn't say a word as he retreated to the kitchen. When he returned Sherlock was still flicking through the papers on his desk and didn't immediately look up when Bill set a teacup beside him. But a moment later, aware that he was still being watched, Sherlock rounded on his partner.

'Is there a reason you continue to stare at me?'

Bill leaned back in the seat of his recliner and nodded, 'Yeah.'

'And that is why, exactly?'

'You know why.' Bill said quietly, 'You took one look at Hamish and you went weird. And I know it wasn't because of his skirt.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned back to what he had been doing. After a long moment Bill spoke again.

'He reminded you of John, didn't he?'

'Don't be riduc-'

Suddenly Bill was beside him, his hand covering Sherlock's, stilling the frantic actions of sorting through his papers. Sherlock froze, waiting for the shouting, but Bill just sighed.

'It's okay. He's half John Watson. And I hate it. I hate that he looks like him and I hate that....no. I'm not having this conversation again. Regardless of who his father was, he's Hamish. He's his own person. And...it's okay for you to feel a bit strange about it sometimes.' Bill pressed a kiss to Sherlock's temple, 'Just don't lie or keep it from me, okay?'

And with that Bill retreated back to the kitchen to make more tea and Sherlock was left alone, breathing harshly, staring down at the papers in front of him, the words blurring and dancing, and a sudden, fierce stab of love for the red haired man who was ten feet away humming as he filled the kettle.


	88. Chapter 88

'I'm thirsty!'

Bill rolled his eyes before turning to face Greg and he silently swore to God that he was never working with family again.

'Tough.'

'Please?' Greg begged.

'You aren't thirsty, you just think you are. If you drink fluids now you'll throw them up, so let your IV do it's work and suck on your ice cubes if you need something in your mouth.'

'Is that what you say to all the boys?'

'It's worked so far.' Bill winked, 'Although sometimes I just ask them to suck my dick.'

The noise Greg made when he swallowed his ice cube was one Bill wished he could set as a ringtone.

Bill went through the motions of checking Greg's heartrate, the baby, temperature ....and then..

'Why a sunflower?'

Greg coloured slightly, 'Myc likes sunflowers.'

'Yeah, but that tattoo is really old and-'

'And I like Myc.'

Bill looked down at the man in the bed who was blushing furiously and several things became staggeringly apparent.

'Even before-'

'For years,' Greg was almost scarlet now and trying not to meet Bill's eye.

'Oh,' was all Bill said before they dropped the conversation.

#

Mrs Hudson had taken Hamish and Bea to Mrs Turner's when Bill arrived home to find Sherlock cursing loudly in the bedroom.

'You okay?' he asked, pushing the door open slightly.

'Do I sound okay?' Sherlock snarled.

Bill opened the door the whole way and went inside where he was faced with Sherlock sitting on the edge of the bed with the hated milk pump.

'Going somewhere?' he asked, as casual as he could manage.

'For the day, but-'

'You can't take Angus.' Bill finished for him, sitting on the bed beside Sherlock, 'Anywhere you can tell me about?'

Sherlock blinked slowly and then shook his head.

'Okay,' Bill stood again, gathering the three bottles Sherlock had already filled and carrying them through to the kitchen where he stored them in the door of the fridge. A moment later Sherlock appeared at his elbow.

'Are you making tea?' the detective asked.

'I wasn't planning on it, but if you want tea...?'

'Milk, two sugars-'

'I know how you take your tea, Sherlock,' Bill sighed, 'After six years it's one of the few things I can be certain about.'

'What does that mean?' Sherlock frowned and followed Bill around the kitchen table.

'It doesn't mean anything,' Bill sighed. He filled the kettle and then set it back on the counter, running his hands over his face before he looked at Sherlock.

'You'll be careful, right? Whatever job you are doing, you be careful.'

'Always.'

'I'm serious, Sherlock, no heroics. Don't you dare do something stupid and leave me alone with two kids.'

There was silence in the kitchen then as Sherlock and Bill stared each other out. Eventually Sherlock nodded.

'I'll be back by tomorrow night.'

Bill opened the cupboard and was reaching for a mug when Sherlock wrapped his arms around his waist. Bill leaned back into the embrace.

'What's brought this on?'

'Am I not allowed to display physical affection towards my partner?'

Bill snorted, 'And who said romance was dead?'

Sherlock pressed a swift kiss to the back of Bill's neck and then whirled away, scooping up the hated breast pump again as he left.

#

There were times when Mycroft had his uses, and the ability to provide a helicopter was one of them.Otherwise Sherlock would have been facing a five hour journey either way.

Bill had just been getting up when Sherlock left that morning. He hadn't said much, but had pressed a mug of tea into Sherlock's hands before warming milk to feed Angus.

'See you tonight,' Bill said quietly.

Sherlock had just nodded and left, part of him screaming to stay with Bill and the boys.

He was still thinking of them as the helicopter landed and he was shown through a maze of corridors to the room where the client was waiting. He thought about his boys, of Angus with his lazy smiles and Hamish with his fierce grin. He thought about Bill and hs ability to be amused at any situation as he pulled out the chair and settled himself into it. He thought about going home that evening, of kissing his children good night and climbing into bed beside Bill. He thought of waking the next day to toast and tea and arguments about shampoo and avocados. 

He thought about how far his life had come in a few short years. He thought about all those lost years spent in cloud of heroin, lurching from one day to the next, desperate for it all to stop.

And then he thought about the moment that Bill had handed him Hamish. The second his life changed forever.

He took a breath and looked at the man seated across the table. It was time to work.

'Hello John.'


	89. Chapter 89

'Where's Sherlock?'

Bill smoothed the blanket across Angus before looking up at Hamish.

'He's not back yet.'

'Is he dead?'

'Doubt it.'

Hamish nodded, but didn't look convinced.

'Can I sleep here until he gets back?'

'Of course you can.'

The words were barely out of his mouth before Hamish was spreadeagled in the middle of the bed, wriggling on his back.

'What are you doing?' Bill asked as he climbed in beside him.

'Finding my comfy spot.'

Bill watched his son for another thirty seconds before he started laughing, 'You are just like your father.'

'With this nose? I think not!' Hamish's snort caused Bill to laugh again.

'Shh, or we'll wake Potato.'

There was silence for a long time until an unfortunate sound tore the air between them.

'That didn't sound healthy, Hamish.'

'It's a perfectly natural bodily function.'

'Not the way you do it. I think that one might have been touching cloth.'

Hamish gave an experimental wriggle, 'No, I think we're fine.'

'You're disgusting.'

'I learned from a master.'

Bill laughed silently into his pillow, 'Go to sleep, Hamish.'

'Will Sherlock be back when I wake up?'

'Probably. You'll hear him bitching about there not being enough sugar in his tea.'

'Where is he?'

'Working,' Bill said quietly.

'You didn't ask?' Hamish turned his large blue eyes on Bill.

'Sometimes it's better to not know what Sherlock is up to.'

'But he'll come back.'

Bill nodded, 'He always comes back.'

#

Sherlock opened the bedroom door. Hamish was occupying most of the large double bed, with Bill pushed to one edge, his feet sticking out from the covers. Angus was fast asleep, making quiet smacking sounds in his sleep as he chased whatever dream he was having.

This was his family, he realised with a start. The tall, redhaired man, the child with the mop of sandy curls, and the baby, fast asleep.

His family.

 

The family that hadn't needed John Watson to make it complete.

The family he'd made for himself.


	90. Chapter 90

'Hello John.'

The small doctor eyed him warily across the table, his hands cuffed to the table between them, unshaven and disheveled.

'Sherlock!'

'How are you?'

John narrowed his eyes, 'How am I? How do you think I am? You get me out of her Sherlock, right now!'

Sherlock shook his head slowly, 'I can't do that, John.'

'Can't or won't?' John snarled.

Taking a deep breath before he spoke Sherlock simply shook his head again, 'I won't.'

John shook the cuffs restraining him.

'You can't leve me like this! I haven't done anything to deserve this, Sherlock!'

In that moment Sherlock looked across at the doctor. His doctor. His John. And he saw, for the first time in years, the same frightened man he'd met at the morgue. He closed his eyes to steal himself against the tug of pain in his chest and he saw something else. 

He saw Bill, covered in vomit, shadows under his eyes from a long shift, chin starting to bruise slightly where Sherlock had kicked it, handing him Hamish. The smell of the danish pastries the next morning, the soft sound of Bill's footsteps as he walked the floor cradling a teething Hamish seven months later, Bill crying when Angus was born....

And in the next breath he remembered sitting at Baker Street as John took Hamish out of his arms. He remembered being alone and afraid, his child in a stranger's arms, for that was what John was then, a stranger. He wasn't the John Watson Sherlock thought he knew.

And then...then the police, the ambulance and a figure running towards him, still clad in his scrubs, face pale with worry.

Bill.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked across at John, suddenly seeing him as if for the first time.

'I'm getting married.'

John curled his lip, 'To your nurse?'

'He's a midwife,' Sherlock said calmly, 'And he's the father of my children.'

'I'm the father of your child!' John shouted loud enough that a concerned face appeared at the window in the door for a moment.

'Children. We have two now.'

'You-'

'His name is Angus. Bill...Bill was happy when he found out about him. He came to every scan, asked all the questions, he...he delivered Angus. Just like he did Hamish.'

'He sounds perfect,' John bit sarcastically.

Sherlock nodded, 'Yes.'

'And that's why you're going to marry him? Right? So tell me, Sherlock, what's the real plan?'

Sherlock shook his head, 'No plan.'

'So you expect me to believe you're actually going to marry this bloke?'

'I don't expect you to believe anything.'

'Why are you here?' John shouted, wrenching back as far as the cuffs would let him.

'I thought you deserved to hear it from me. And I needed to remind myself.'

'Remind yourself? About what? About the mistakes you're making? About the way you've destroyed my life?'

'About how I don't feel that way about you anymore.'

'Sherlock-'

'I loved you once, John, but not like this. Not like I love Bill.'

'Bill?' John spat, 'You're not really going to marry a bloke called Bill!'

Sherlock nodded, 'I am.'

'And you think my child is going to call him Dad?'

Sherlock took in John then, the spittle at the corner of his mouth, the angry set of his jaw and the hatred in every syllable and realised this was not the John Watson he jumped off a building for, not the John Watson he'd killed for.

'He always has.' Sherlock pushed his chair back and stood up, 'Goodbye, John.'

John's voice, screaming his name, followed him along the corridor as Sherlock left.


	91. Chapter 91

When Angus cried Bill sprang out of bed and looked surprised to see Sherlock lifting the baby out of the cot.

'You're back! There's still two bottles in the fridge if you want me to feed him, you look exhausted.'

'It's fine,' Sherlock shouldered Angus an walked through to the living room, Bill close on his heels.

'Tea?'

'You should sleep.'

'I'm up now,' Bill said and went through to the kitchen. When he returned Sherlock was settled in his armchair nursing Angus. Bill set a cup of tea and a slice of cake on the table at hs elbow, 'How was your trip?'

'Tedious.' Sherlock rolled his eyes, 'How were the boys?'

'Well Hamish had dinner with Mrs Hudson and Mrs Turner so he could catch up on the soaps and Angus ate five spoonfuls of that sweet potato and blueberry puree you made. Did you have dinner?'

'I had a sandwich on the helicopter.'

Bill blew out his cheeks, 'So it was one of those trips?'

'What trips?'

'The ones you don't tell me about.'

There was silence except for Bill sipping his tea and Sherlock's quiet murmuring to Angus.

'What if I've changed my mind?' Sherlock said quietly.

'You change your mind all the time.'

'About getting married.'

To his credit Bill didn't react immeidately. He took another sip of his tea and nodded.

'Then we don't get married.'

'But you want to get married.'

'...yeah. But it's not the be all and end all.'

'You'd be disappointed.'

Bill sighed, 'A bit.'

'Would you leave?'

'I didn't leave you over the fingers in the jam or the calf liver in the fridge or the time you and Hamish blew up the microwave, so what makes you think i'd leave now?'

'You want to get married.'

'Yeah, I do. But...look at your hand. Look at our life. We're pretty much married anyway. But if you've changed your mind, if you don't want to-'

'Can we do it today?'

'Pretty sure you have to book these things in advance, Sherlock.'

'Semantics,' Sherlock waved his free hand dismissively. It was then that Bill realised Sherlock was serious.

'You want to get married today?'

'That's what I said. Please don't make me repeat myself.'

'But that's not enough time to get everything organised.'

'What's to organise?'

'Guests. Clothes. Rings-'

'I don't want guests.'

'Sherlock we can't not invite-'

'I just want it to be us. You, me, Hamish and Angus. That's...that's all I need.'

Bill bit his lip and then nodded.

'But you have to be the one to tell your mum.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes again, 'And my mother is precisciely why I don't want anyone else there. If my mother gets involved the day will end up a circus and I have no wish for my wedding to be her social occassion.'

Bill smiled.

'Okay.'

'Okay?'

Bill nodded, 'We can always have a party later,' his smile turned michevious, 'Besides, there#s something kinda sexy about sneaking opff and getting married without telling anyone.'

'Today then.'

Bill nodded, his tea still cradled in his hands, 'Today.'

#

It took less than twenty minutes from start to finish. Hamish was almost beside himself with excitement, Angus slept through most of it, cradled in Bill's arms. They roped in two strangers who were touring the building to witness things and then taxied back to Baker Street for a late brunch at Speedy's.

It wasn't until they were climbing the stairs to their own flat that Sherlock was hit by the realisation that he'd just married the man walking behind him. He glanced back at Bill who was carrying a dozing Hamish who'd been overwhelmed by the day, and he smiled.

Bill smiled back, shifting Hamish to a more comfortable position and carried on climbing the stairs.

Sherlock opened the door, Angus secure in his sling, holding it for Bill and Hamish, the telltale scent of biscuits in the air, his Hamish fast asleep in Bill's arms, muttering about cartwheels in his sleep.

This, he knew with a stabbing clarity, was his life. His family. This was the man he chose, who chose him. These were his children. Their children. In the background was the scent of scones and tea.


	92. Chapter 92

A week later Greg was grinning when Bill did his rounds.

'Look,' he nodded at the empty plastic cup on the desk, 'I kept it all down!'

Bill laughed, 'Do you want a round of applause?'

As he wheeled over the heart monitor Greg frowned, catching a glimpse of the bruises around Bill's neck when his shirt slipped. He knew those marks well after nearly thirty years in homicide.

'What happened? Were you attacked? You need to file a report and-'

'Calm down,' Bill flushed slightly and readjusted his shirt, 'Things just got a bit...kinky last night.'

Greg smirked and raised his eyebrows.

'Stop it!' Bill warned.

'I didn't say anything.'

'You didn't need to.' Bill focused on Greg's notes, 'Right, so, your cardiologist is coming down this morning, and...look, don't take this the wrong way, but I asked Cassie to come see you. I thought a second opinion would be-'

'Your old flatmate?'

Bill nodded.

'Why do want a second opinion? Is there something wrong?'

Bill shook his head, 'I just want to be sure. I...well I want to know that what I'm doing is the best thing and not a personal decision.'

'Did I hear someone take my name in vain?' 

It was difficult to see the slight woman behind the massive bunch of sunflowers she was carrying. She laid them down on the table and leaned over to press a kiss against Greg's cheek.

'I was wondering why we hadn't seen you at the pub lately!'

'Well he's been a bit busy trying not to die.'

'Hmm,' Cassie frowned.

'So you work here now?' Greg asked.

'Hell no!' Cassie laughed, 'This is Bill's ward, technically I can't give a second opinion, but since I'm visiting a friend there's probably nothing to stop me giving a personal opinion.'

Bill silently handed her a pair of gloves and stood back, 'I'll be outside, just shout if you need you need me.'

#

Cassie handed Bill back his stethoscope and peeled off her gloves, throwing them in the bin.

'Well, I think you are right, there's no way he can deliver vaginally, it's going to have to be a section. He's responding well to the medication although I'd up his B vitamin compound and if he doesn't start making progress with food I'd be looking at insulin to combat ketosis.'

Bill nodded, 'Already on it.'

Cassie flicked through another page, 'So you are.' She smiled at him, 'You're doing exactly what I would do.'

Bill didn't say anything, he just looked down at his feet.

'Bill,' Cassie put her hand on his arm, 'You are a great midwife. You were the youngest consultant midwife I've ever known. You run this clinic. Why are you doubting yourself now?'

'I wanted to be sure I was right. That I wasn't just acting on instinct.'

Cassie smiled up at him and shook her head, 'Acting on instinct is why you are so good,' she said and then stretched up and pressed a kiss to his cheek, 'I'll see you on Friday for drinks at the Lemon?'

Bill nodded and watched her go. Then he took a deep breath and went back into Greg's room.

#

Five weeks after he was admitted, Greg was allowed home. Although that permission came with a long list of rules, most of which seemed to involve him sitting on his arse on the sofa and letting someone else do everything.

Beatrice had been given a stethoscope of her own by Bill and her main occupation seemed to be listening to the sounds inside Greg's stomach, almost as if she needed to reassure herself.

Now over five months, almost six, Greg and Mycroft were starting the countdown to birth. Anthea had been interviewing what seemed like the entire Norland nanny register to secure a second nanny.

'We already have a nanny,' Greg complained.

'Yes, but we share her with Sherlock and do you seriously think one single person can look after that number of children?'

'Umm...yes?'

'Let me rephrase,' Mycroft smiled, 'Do you really think that it's fair to expect one single person to look after all of OUR children?'

Greg had to admit he had a point. But on hearing about the potential new appointment both the current nanny, a robust sixty year old universally referred to as Nana Blisset, Sherlock and the mighty Kovačić insisted on being present for all future interviews.

'I rather think that's overkill,' Mycroft confided.

'Well I rather think that's everyone we love and trust looking out for our kids,' Greg shot back, 'And who else would you trust to interview them than those four? I mean, if they survive that experience they can survive everything our lot throw at them.'

Mycroft had no option but to admit his husband was right.

However, when Beatrice and Hamish heard of the plan they responded in the only way they knew how. With a list of demands. This eventually escalated into them sitting in on interviews.

Eventually, after two false starts, hundreds of inappropriate questions and one small fire, Ingeberg was employed. She had the advantage of five languages, two years of military service, a Michelin star and a proficiency in knots that impressed even Sherlock.

'We can't afford this,' Greg said as he looked over her contract.

'We can.'

'Myc-'

'Have you ever even looked at the joint account?'

Greg had once and felt so sick he'd taken the afternoon off work.

'That's not my money.'

'No,' Mycroft nodded, 'It's OUR money.'

'Myc, there's...millions.'

'Hmm. Trust fund and some shrewd investments over the years.'

'I can't spend your money.'

'Our money.'

'Myc-'

'All I have I give to you,' Mycroft quoted quietly, and that silenced Greg for a moment.

'Mycroft,' he said quietly, 'I've been thinking about work.'

'Oh.'

'What...what if I didn't go back?'

Mycroft tried hard to hide his smile, 'I think that would be fine. But may I ask why?'

'Heart doctor told me I'd be confined to desk work,' Greg pulled a face, 'I didn't become a police officer to spend my life sitting on my arse filling in forms. And....well, that's IF my medical clears me for service again. I just....I don't want to be a burden.'

Mycroft sat down opposite his husband, 'Since I gave up my job a year ago I can hardly complain about you giving up yours? Besides, we have money, we have help,' he paused, 'I know how important your job is to you, so you know...whatever you choose I'll support.'

'Maybe a couple of months....'

'Of course.'

'Play it by ear?'

'Always.'

Before either of them could speak again there was a crash from upstairs, immediately followed by Beatrice's voice.

'It's fine!'

They shared a look, both knowing it wasn't fine. And then Greg smiled. This was his life now.


	93. Chapter 93

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so....how DID Greg and Mycroft end up together?

'Alright,' Bill leaned back in his chair, pulling a face at caffeine free herbal tea that had been poured for him as he sat on an antique Chesterfield in the surroundings of Greg and Mycroft's mahogany paneled Mayfair home, 'I really need to know exactly how a bloke like you ended up with someone like Mycroft. Because, and no offence mate, but he's a bit out of your league, so exactly how much kinky shit did you have to do to win him over?'

Greg grinned and bit his lip, colour flushing his cheeks, 'Actually he did all the chasing.'

'What? Really?'

Greg nodded, remembering the texts and flowers, the theatre tickets and late dinners. How Mycroft had been the one to ask him on a proper date, to ask him to move in, to marry him. All the times Mycroft had gone out of his way to make an effort, the football matches Mycroft had sat through, the operas he had patiently translated, the arguments over late night films and the sheer pride on his face the first time Greg accompanied him to a social function.

'Yeah. I didn't think he'd be interested in someone like me, but....let's just say he convinced me that he was.'

Bill seemed to brighten up at this, 'Oh, was it really dirty?'

'No!' Greg protested just a little too quickly, then he shook his head, already knowing that he wasn't going to get out of telling Bill so he might as well make it as brief as possible, 'We were having a fight.'

'About Sherlock.'

'How did-?'

'Call it intuition.'

Greg laughed, 'Yes. It was about Sherlock. He'd been working with us for years and so Myc and I had a LOT of arguments about Sherlock by that point.'

'So?'

'So Sherlock had gotten himself arrested and Mycroft was trying to get him off with no charges and didn't understand that it was out of my hands. He called me...some names. I yelled back and next thing we were hurling abuse at each other across his office.'

Bill looked genuinely surprised, 'I can't imagine Mycroft losing his temper.'

Greg smiled at the memory, 'It was a sight to see.Mycroft in full flow is...magnificent. It didn't even matter that he was directing all that anger at me. He was just so fucking sexy, and...well I figured after all the cheek I gave him that he was probably going to have me deported or...disappeared anyway so I just sort of took my chance. Pinned him against the wall and kissed him.'

'Seriously? What happened then?'

'Then I flaked it out of there straight back to my flat and started to pack.'

Bill snorted into his tea. But Greg smiled at the memory.

'I spent the whole night waiting for the knock at the door and the silent escort to wherever my body was going to end up. But ...when I opened the door it was Mycroft.'

What he didn't tell Bill was that Mycroft had stepped towards him in silence, leaned in so close to a barely breathing Greg that his nose brushed Greg's jaw.

'May I take you to bed?'

Even now, years later, the memory of that absurdly polite request made Greg's cock twitch. It was so unexpected but at the same time so terribly Mycroft.

Greg had simply nodded and silently led the way to his small bedroom. There were no words as clothes where quietly shed until Greg was being backed onto the bed. He'd bitten his lip when Mycroft's boxers were removed, to say the stud through Mycroft's cock was unexpected would be an understatement.

Mycroft saw him looking and smirked.

'Surprised?'

Greg nodded and bit his lip, 'While we're on the subject of surprises...there's something I should....' he trailed off, registering the look on Mycroft's face and deciding that sometimes it was easier to show than explain. Wordlessly he let his legs fall open, looking away as he did so.

'You're duel sex?' Mycroft asked quietly, sounding genuinely surprised.

Greg had taken great pains to keep his gender private, knowing all too well the outdated attitudes of the majority of the population. Closing his eyes to hide his disapointment he made to sit up again, but was stopped by cool hands holding his legs where they were. When he opened his eyes it was to see Mycroft Holmes looking down at him, eyes dark with anger. No...not anger. Something else.

Lust.

Mycroft held his gaze for a long moment until he swallowed, 'May I?'

Greg blinked rapidly and then nodded, expecting the brush of a curious finger. What he didn't expect was the slow swipe of a tongue and he arched his back, the moan escaping before he could stop it.

He woke in the early hours of the morning, long before daylight, stiff and sore and utterly satiated to find Mycroft Holmes watching him from the other side of the bed. There was silence for a long time as they considered each other.

'Are you going to have me killed now?' he asked, only half joking.

Mycroft's lips twitched, 'If I had you killed then we couldn't do this again. I will admit to several kinks, but I assure you that necrophilia is not among them.'

Greg threw a pillow at him and six months later Mycroft asked him to move in.


	94. Chapter 94

'William Sherlock Scott Holmes what the hell have you done?'

At the sound of Bill's voice Sherlock blanched and Hamish shrugged.

'He's using your full name,' Hamish said gathering his drawing materials, 'You are in SO much trouble.'

'Do you think he found the fingers in the freezer?' Sherlock asked, but Hamish was already darting up to his bedroom.

Hamish shrugged, 'I'll tell Potato you loved him.'

'You're brother isn't called- Bill!' Sherlock put on hs best smile as Bill threw open the living room door.

Hamish glanced between his parents and then attempted to duck between them, only to be steered back into the middle of the kitchen.

'I've just been speaking to Mrs Turner,' Bill started.

'Oh shit!'

'Hamish!' Bill chastised, but Sherlock just shrugged.

'He gets that from you.'

'Well apparently he gets his pyromaniacal tendencies from you!'

'Did you set fire to Mrs Turners kitchen again?'

Hamish shook his head.

'Okay,' Sherlock sighed and turned to face Bill.

'We set fire to her bathroom.'

'We?' Bill demanded at the same time as Sherlock asked 'Bathroom?'

'Well,' Hamish started, 'Bea and I were-'

'Wait!' Bill held his hand up to silence Hamish, 'Take a moment to have a think, Hamish. Is this something I want to know?'

Hamish bit his lip as he thought, 'Hypothetically,' he said carefully, 'If I'd accidentally caused a minor fire in Mrs Turner's toilet then how long would I be grounded for?'

'Well you're six now so you might be out in time to go to university.'

'So Christmas then?' Hamish asked.

'Nice try,' Bill responded, choosing to ignore Sherlock who was doing a poor job of hiding his grin.

'What if I said it was Bea's fault?'

'Was it?'

'It could be her fault.'

'And what would Beatrice do to you if you blame her for something she didn't do?'

'It might not be pleasant.'

'Exactly.'

'So...'

'So you're grounded until Mrs Turner calms down and Sherlock is paying for a a new shower curtain.'

'Why do I have to pay for a new curtain?' Sherlock demanded.

'Because Mrs Hudson said you can't have any more biscuits or bingo until you fix the damage you've done.'

Hamish glared up at his father, who shrugged defiantly.

'It's just biscuits.'

Bill wasn't sure who gasped louder, him or Hamish. Either way it got Sherlock's attention.

'Fine!' he cried, throwing his hands in the air, 'I suppose you want me to apologize too?'

Before Bill could respond Sherlock had stormed past him and was crashing his way down the stairs. Hamish sighed and made to follow his father.

'Straight back here when you are done,' Bill said.

'Why?'

'Because you're both grounded.'

'You can't ground Sherlock!'

'Watch me.'

Hamish glared up at Bill and then sighed, 'How come I'm getting punished and Beatrice isn't?'

'Because she was smart enough to not get caught.'

'Do you know what would have happened if Sherlock had a dad like you?'

'Yeah, he'd have had boundaries.'

Hamish paused, a myriad of emotions crossing his face until he finally blew out a deep breath.

'Well I'd better go an apologize then!'

Bill waited until he heard the slam of the front door and then he swept Angus out of his seat and pressed a kiss to his forehead causing the baby to laugh.

'You father and brother will be the death of me, Potato,' Angus took his fingers out of his mouth and offered them to Bill, 'But I'm never bored.'


	95. Chapter 95

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill grosses Violet out and Greg's giving birth....

When Angus was five months old he suddenly started to refuse to nurse, which upset Sherlock because he couldn't work out why. He wouldn't even take expressed breastmilk from a bottle.

'I don't understand!' Sherlock was almost in tears in frustration, not helped by Violet's all together too smug 'I told you so.'

'Let me see,' Bill took the bottle from Sherlock's hand and unscrewed the top before taking a sip, 'It tastes fine, nothing wrong with it.'

This was met by horrified looks from Sherlock's parents.

'You can't drink that!' Violet cried, her hand going to her throat in alarm.

Bill rolled his eyes, 'It's breastmilk, Violet, it's literally made for human consumption.'

'But...but it came out of Sherlock!'

'It's not the first time I've tasted breastmilk. I am a midwife.'

At this Greg smirked because he knew entirely too much about Bill and Sherlock's sex life to not know how that usually happened, while Siger looked like he was on the verge of walking out, his face red with embarrassment. Violet's face was turning red too, but with anger.

'Well I think it's just wrong!'

'You weren't complaining about it when you were drinking your tea,' Sherlock pointed out, and at this Greg honestly thought Violet was going to be sick right there on the oriental rug.

'That is....that...'

'Calm down, Violet,' Greg said softly, 'Sherlock was joking.'

It took another ten minutes for Violet's colour to return to normal.

'I'm so glad Greg is doing things properly,' she said, stirring another sugar into her fresh cup of tea, 'It's so undignified.'

Bill couldn't see Sherlock's face but he could feel the rise in tension in his body.

'Well,' Bill pointed out, trying to diffuse the situation, 'You eat your lunch in public so why shouldn't Angus?'

'And beside,' Greg added, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice, 'I'm not allowed to do it. Health reasons...'

Violet's only response was a sniff and to change the topic. It was a long twenty minutes before she and Siger left but immediately the tension in the room lifted.

'Sherlock, I love you, but I really can't stand your mother.' If anything the bad feeling between Bill and Violet had only increased when she found out Sherlock had gone off and gotten married in secret.

Sherlock shifted Angus on his hip and didn't reply.

'Alright,' Bill said, 'Do you want to try again or will we give the formula a go?'

Sherlock tucked his face against Angus neck and nodded so no one could see how upset he was.

#

Greg was exhausted, huge and only had three weeks to go until term when during a routine check up the midwife looked at his chart and smiled.

'So, today's the day?'

Greg shared a look of confusion with Mycroft, who was hovering by the door looking nervous.

'What do you mean?'

'You're booked in for your section in an hour. You must be excited.'

'No, not until next week.'

'That's not what it says on our records. You're consultant midwife is Bill Murray, right?'

Greg looked at Mycroft again and tried to control his rising heartrate.

'I'll fucking kill him,' he said, 'I've nothing packed!'

And then he saw the look on Mycroft's face and he glared at his husband.

'You knew.'

Mycroft lifted his chin defiantly, 'We thought it would alarm too much in the last days leading up to the birth and so-'

'We are having words about this later, Holmes!'

And then there were surgeons and nurses and Bill was there entirely unrepentant for his part in the deception. Greg was prepped for the surgery, his heart consultant monitoring things too. Greg said it was overkill to have so many people, but Mycroft had insisted and what Mycroft wanted, he got.

Greg was nervous and gripped Mycroft's hand as reading were taking, anesthetic administered, notes consulted and then the first cut.

Then the surgeons looked at each other, and then Bill was manhandling Mycroft out of the room but not before he heard the alarm go off and saw that Greg had turned grey.

'What's going on?' he demanded, trying to get back into the room even as Bill pushed him away.

'Just stay here, they need the space to...stay here. I'll be out as soon as I can.'

'William-'

'Stay here.' And then Bill was gone, the door swinging shut behind him and Mycroft was left alone in the corridor.


	96. Chapter 96

For the first time in his life Mycroft Holmes didn't know what to do. He paced the corridor, tearing at his hair and absent mindedly twisting his wedding ring for what seemed like days but could only have been ten minutes at most.

And then the door opened and Bill was running in the opposite direction, pushing an incubator before him. Mycroft made to move after him.

'Willia-'

'Mr Lestrade-Holmes?' One of the surgeons came out, pulling off his cap.

Mycroft could only nod, his mouth dry.

'I apologise for that. Your husband went into a mild cardiac arrest during-'

'Gregory!' Mycroft plunged towards the door, stopped by the surgeon's arms.

'He's stable now, we'll be moving him down to ICU for the night though, just to make sure.'

The wave of relief that washed over Mycroft almost brought him to his knees.

'Can I see him?'

The surgeon nodded, 'Sure.'

He led Mycroft back to Gregory where a team where readying him to be moved. He looked small and grey and there was the bitter tang of blood and antiseptic in the air. Gregory's cardiac consultant looked up when Mycroft came in and nodded seriously.

'He'll be fine for now.' he said, and even though that was probably meant to comfort, all it did was cause another constriction in Mycroft's chest.

As Gregory was wheeled out of the room to the ICU all Mycroft could do was follow, still rubbing his wedding ring with his thumb.


	97. Chapter 97

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tiny update

Seeing Gregory so pale and frail reminded Mycroft far too much of that awful time after Gregory's seizure. He sat beside his husband, watching the various machines, noting each number and their meaning. It was almost an hour before Gregory started to come around.

'Mycroft?'

'Yes. Yes, I'm here, don't get up!'

'Is-?'

'Fine. Down in the NICU with Bill.'

Gregory closed his deep brown eyes for a second, 'Have you seen-?'

'No, not yet.'

'You need to go.'

'Gregory-'

'Mycroft, please! You need to go!'

Mycroft stood slowly, 'I'll come straight back.'

Gregory nodded, 'You do that. And Myc, pick a name.'

#

'Mycroft!' Bill looked up from his paperwork, 'I was just going to come up and get you.'

'Why? Is there anything wrong?'

Bill held up a hand and shook his head, a smile breaking out, 'I just thought you'd want to meet your offspring.'

Mycroft searched the midwife's face for any trace of amusement, and then he nodded, 'Please.'

'You're leaving it late, Bea and Hamish have been down here for the last twenty minutes.'

'Beatrice is here?'

'Ah you know how they are. But you'd best pick a name before they do. Bea is set on Augusta but Hamish is plumping for Bonaparte.'

Bill pushed open the door and nodded to Mycroft. In the room there were two plastic incubators.

'Daddy!' Beatrice beamed. Beside her Hamish was vibrating with excitement.

'You're supposed to be at school,' Mycroft said weakly.

''Daddy said we could be here if we were quiet,' Hamish glared defiantly at Bill, who just shrugged.

'Calm down Myc, it's a big day for them.' Bill said softly and Mycroft nodded.

'Can I-'

'Of course!'

'Which one?' Mycroft said quietly.

Beatrice and Hamish exchanged a look and them Beatrice looked away while Hamish bit his lip. Mycroft look at Bill in alarm, but the midwife was smiling.

'Both of them.'


	98. Chapter 98

'It's...two. But...!'

Bill nodded and stepped forward, 'Greg wanted-'

'But I've seen the scan pictures! How can there be two?'

Bill held up his hands to silence Mycroft, 'She was hiding behind him.'

'She?...him?' Mycroft stumbled forward, his focus on the two small incubators.

'Yeah. One of each.'

'Two?'

Bill nodded, 'Two.'

'I-'

'It's okay, Daddy,' Beatrice's tiny hand caught Mycroft's, 'We can call them-'

'No!'

Even Bill flinched at Mycroft's shout, but Mycroft sighed, 'Your child is called Potato because of them, I can't raise a Cabbage.'

There was silence for a second and then the room was filled with the sound of Bill laughing.

'He's really trusting you to name them?'

'Apparently.'

'Even after Bea?'

'What's wrong with my name?' Beatrice demanded.

'It's Beatrice for a start,' Hamish laughed.

'Um...Hamish?'

Bill clapped his hands, 'Alright, enough! Now help Mycroft pick names before Violet gets here and saddles them both with something awful.'

'There's nothing wrong with my mother's ta-'

'She called you Mycroft,' Bill held up his finger, 'Voluntarily.'

Beatrice and Hamish struggled to hide their giggles as Mycroft stared down Bill. Eventually he relaxed.

'Can Gregory see them?'

'An hour or two,' Bill nodded, 'Just waiting on a room. Not everyone gets the VIP treat-'

'Why didn't he tell me?'

Beatrice and Hamish exchanged glances and then Hamish reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled five pound note and a scattering of coins before glancing back at Beatrice again.

'Here,' Bill didn't take his eyes away from Mycroft as he pulled twenty pounds from his wallet, 'Try not to get diabetes.'

When Hamish and Beatrice left Bill took a deep breath.

'If it all went wrong then he didn't want you to get your hopes up,' Bill shrugged, 'Plus, kind of a nice surprise, right? The boy is duel sex, so you're gonna have your hands full there. I can sympathise, I mean, I live with Sherlock, and Angus is......you okay?''

It took a massive amount of effort to drag his gaze away from Bill, but Mycroft managed it. He looked down at the babies, HIS babies...

Pale skin, red hair...red lips and long, delicate fingers.

He hadn't let himself belive that this moment would come for one child, let alone two. But as he looked down he smiled.

'Margot,' he said softly.

'Margot?' Bill smiled and nodded, 'I like it.'

'And Jean-Christophe.'


	99. Chapter 99

Mycroft had been arguing with various hospital administrators for the last half an hour.

''I'm sorry, sir, but that's not hospital policy,' came the same response over and over.

'Your policy doesn't concern me. I demand-'

'What's going on?' Bill came down the corridor wheeling a small cart of equipment.

'Mr Holmes was just requesting-'

'I demand that-'

Bill held up his hands, 'Alright, one at a time.'

Mycroft drew himself up to his full height and stared at his brother in law, 'They should be with Gregory, but your staff aren't-'

'It's not hospital policy, sir,' the woman behind the desk repeated, even more forcefully than before, looking to Bill for help.

Bill nodded, and walked away from them. After a moment of indignant shock Mycroft followed him, but Bill was already flagging down a porter.

'I need the Holmes-Lestrade twins moved up to room 14. I want it done by the time I do Mrs Conrad's catheter.'

The porter nodded and immediately took off down the corridor. Mycroft was still staring at Bill, who went back to checking the equipment on his tray before heading towards a side room.

'You might rule England,' he said over his shoulder, 'But this is MY ward.'

#

The ward staff were used to Bill and his strange family, but the security detail on Greg's room caused more than a few sideways glances. Greg was still asleep when two porters arrived, flanked by Anthea and and older agent who refused to make eye contact. As soon as the door closed, Mycroft was anxiously checking them both over, recounting fingers and toes and checking the babies were warm enough. He seemed particularly distressed that Jean-Christophe was clad in only a nappy and a hat, several wires still attached to his tiny body.

'He's just a bit smaller,' Bill reassured, 'It's easier to get to monitor him this way, remember when Angus was born early, it's the same thing, so don't worry. It's just a precaution.'

'Will he not be cold?'

Bill shook his head, 'It's 23 degrees in here and his incubator maintains it's own constant temperature.'

'They're so small.'

'Twins often are. But these two are pretty robust, considering....'

Bill didn't need say anything else for Mycroft to understand his full meaning.

'And Gregory?'

'His consultant was round an hour ago, but it looks like he's going to be staying here for a while. Which isn't a bad thing to be honest. We'll keep Bea so you can stay with him here if you want.'

'Thank you.'

Before Bill could respond the door opened and Hamish and Beatrice burst in, wild eyed with sugar overload and followed discreetly by Kovačić. The two young children took another look into the incubators but seemed less interested in the babies than they were with the rustle of sweet wrappers from their pockets.

'I'll take them home,' Kovačić said quietly, 'Nana Blisset has called twice and made some rather pointed remarks about dinner.'

Mycroft missed Bill's smile, but Kovačić didn't. His fear of the elderly nanny was well known, something which amused Bill in a man who worked with Mycroft and who used to torture people for a living.

It was only when the children had left and Bill had gone to do his rounds that Mycroft noticed the new sticky labels that had been affixed to the bottom of each incubator next to the hospital card in Beatrice's neat loopy writing. He groaned, Gregory was not going to be pleased.

But Cabbage and Cauliflower it was then.


	100. Chapter 100

Greg woke to the soft sounds of conversation and then the click of a door as someone left.

'Gregory? I am so very angry with you.'

Greg slowly focused on his husband who was standing by his bedside looking down at him. When Greg looked at him Mycroft smiled and stepped aside to let Greg see the two incubators.

'I thought we talked about keeping secrets,' Mycroft said.

Greg bit his lip hard before whispering, 'I'm sorry.'

But Mycroft's expression was soft, 'They're fine,' he said, reading Greg's mind.

'Can I see them?'

Mycroft nodded and pushed one of the incubators to Greg's bedside. Greg looked up in alarm at the wires attached to the baby.

'It's just to monitor him,' Mycroft reassured, and then he was lifting the second baby out and handing it very gently to Greg.

'Did you name them yet?' 

Mycroft nodded, 'Margot and Jean-Christophe.'

'And what are we actually calling them?'

Mycroft groaned, 'Cabbage and Caulliflower.

Greg laughed and then winced, causing Mycroft to lean over him in concern.

'Should I call for someone?'

'It's okay. When can we go home?'

'It'll be a while, you need to rest.'

'I want to go home.'

'Just as soon as they say you can.' Mycroft was looking down at him again and when he spoke it was so softly that Greg almost didn't hear it, 'I love you.'


	101. Chapter 101

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a whole year (eep!) of this we are almost at the end now. I apologise for nothing.

In the end Greg and the twins were allowed home after three weeks, which was mostly for Greg's benefit and Mycroft's insistence that the policeman was not separated from his babies. He spent another month on bed rest recovering and getting used to his new medication.

'I don't like them,' he'd complained to his cardiologist.

'Learn to like them, because you'll be on them for the rest of your life.

Which wasn't the only thing he would have to change about his life if he wanted to continue having one.

'No smoking, no drinking, no caffeine, no vigorous exercise-'

'What about sex?' Greg had demanded, horrified.

'You'll just have to make adjustments.'

'That means no more swinging from the chandeliers, Greg,' Bill had smirked, earning him a stern look from the cardiologist.

But they slowly adapted to their new lives. And then several things happened all at once.

#

The first thing

The words roared in Sherlock's ears as he tried to focus on the doctors words, but they were jumbled in his head and as much as he struggled he couldn't make sense of them.

'...difficult to tell at this stage but we'll continue to monitor him over the coming years and there are options that will...'

Bill's hand tightened slightly on Sherlock's knee, a reassurance.

But all Sherlock could do was look down at Angus, his beautiful ten month baby who was happily chewing on his plastic dinosaur and completely oblivious to the conversation going on above him. And that word resounded over and over in Sherlock's mind until it pulsed through him with a fear he hadn't felt in years.

Deaf.

#

It had started with small signs. Angus had always been a happy baby who babbled incessantly and interacted with everyone around him, his particular favourite being Mycroft. But then they started to notice that Angus didn't seem interested in things that had fascinated Hamish. He didn't even look up when Sherlock was playing his violin until Sherlock was sitting in front of him, in which case he kept trying to take the bow out of his hands to play with it. He seemed oblivious to the various levels of noisy chaos that constantly surrounded him. But then Sherlock burned his toast and Angus didn't even look up at the shrieking from the smoke alarm.

And now they knew why.

Bill handed Sherlock a glass of wine when he downstairs from settling the boys.

'It'll be okay,' he said quietly.

Sherlock sat in his chair and said nothing.

#

The second thing

In the weeks that followed Angus's diagnosis, Sherlock reverted back to a version of himself that those around him had hoped to never see again. He was withdrawn and silent for hours at a time. He stopped playing his violin and it sat untouched in a corner. He wasn't eating and his sleep patterns were becoming more erratic by the day, as were his moods.

He snapped at Bill and Mrs Hudson, the latter gave him a sharp prod in the shoulder and a stern talking to which made no difference whatsoever. Bill was patient as he could be, refusing to give in to the fight Sherlock clearly seemed to want. Hamish who had never known this version of Sherlock was worried and confused and resorted to spending as much time out of the flat as possible.

'He will talk when he is ready,' Mycroft advised, 'Although it's been a long time since he had one of these dark spells.' Mycroft looked down, his shoulder slumped and sadness radiating off him, 'And I'm afraid I may be about to make it worse.'

#

The third thing

'Go away Mycroft,' Sherlock didn't even look as his brother entered the room.

'Sherlock,' Bill said softly, 'Can you sit up for a minute.'

Something in the tone of Bill's voice seemed to alert something in Sherlock and he sat, and then stood so he was facing his brother.

'Sherlock,' Mycroft began uncertainly, 'There has been...it's...'

'Just say it!' Sherlock spat.

Mycroft closed his eyes for a long moment and then nodded at his brother.

'Dr Watson was found dead in his cell this morning. He had taken his own life.'

No one spoke for a full minute, and then Sherlock nodded once and turned away, his footsteps echoed down the stairs and Mycroft went to the window in time to see Sherlock striding up the street.

'I'll go after him if you watch-'

'No!' Mycroft laid a hand on Bill's arm, 'Leave him. I'll have my people watch him. He'll come back when he's ready.'

Bill rubbed his hands over his eyes, feeling utterly helpless and horribly, guiltily relieved at the same time.


	102. Chapter 102

The fourth thing

It took three days for Sherlock to come home.

Three days of ignoring his phone, of avoiding CCTV and Mycroft's minions. And then he walked into the flat, peeled off his coat, and shut himself in the bathroom.

'Sherlock?' Bill's voice was soft, 'I'm making lunch, are you eating?'

Bill waited a full three minutes before he turned away again.

'Is Sherlock alright?' Hamish asked when Bill walked back to the kitchen.

'Yeah, he just needs some time.'

'Why?'

'Something happened to someone he used to care about?'

'Was it John?'

Bill tried not to flinch at that name from Hamish's lips. But he nodded.

'Yeah.'

'Is he dead?'

'Hamish- why would....I mean....he's....' Bill sighed at the look on Hamish's face, 'Yeah. Yeah he is.'

'So does he want John more than us?'

'No! No, it's not...John is...was your dad and-'

'He wasn't my dad.' Hamish stood up, his fists curled and glared at Bill, 'You're supposed to be my dad.'

Bill dropped to his knees in front of Hamish, 'I am. I am.'

'So start acting like it.'

'Hamish...'

'Potato needs fed and you need to get Sherlock out of the bathroom.'

'And you?'

'I'm going to have to talk to Bea about this.'

'Okay.'

'And you should do something about Sherlock's clothes - they smell like a homeless person.'

'Charming,' Bill sighed as Hamish went upstairs. Then he picked Sherlock's coat up from the sofa and emptied the pockets before he could take it to the dry cleaners.

And stopped.

#

'Where are the boys?' Sherlock asked after he finally emerged from the bathroom.

'Ingeberg took them to the zoo.'

'Their ban has been lifted then?'

'What's this?' Bill held out the bag he'd found in Sherlock's coat but on seeing the expression on Sherlock's face he bit his lip, 'Are you using?'

Sherlock shook his head.

'Be honest with me, Sherlock.' Bill couldn't look at his husband, 'Are you using again? I...I can't deal with that....if you are, if you've started doing drugs again.....I'll leave, Sherlock. I'll leve and I'll take the boys with me.'

'I'm not...I'm not.'

'So why do you have a bag of heroin in your coat pocket?'

Sherlock sat down in his armchair, not looking at Bill. A long minute passed before he spoke.

'I wanted a release...but I didn't do it.'

'But you bought the drugs!' Bill fought against the tears.

'I didn't take them.'

'How do I know that? How can I trust you now? Why should I believe you didn't take anything.'

Sherlock took two deep breaths before he fixed his gaze on Bill.

'Because I'm pregnant.'


	103. Chapter 103

'What?'

Sherlock nodded once, biting his lip to keep his emotions to himself.

'You're....' Bill stopped, eyes wide, 'It's..it's mine?'

The look on Sherlock's face almost broke his heart.

'It's yours. You know it's yours.'

'And-'

'I want it,' Sherlock reached for Bill and then stopped, uncertain, 'I really want it.'

'You're pregnant.'

'Yes.'

'We're having another baby?'

'Yes.'

'You're pregnant....'

'I thought we had established that.'

'Another baby!' Bill couldn't hide his smile, 'We're having another baby!'

Sherlock nodded.

'So why did you buy heroin?'

Sherlock sank further into his chair and took a long moment to look up to meet Bill's gaze.

'I didn't want to feel anything.'

'But-'

'But then I did.'

'We're doing this?'

Sherlock nodded, 'If you-'

'No ifs.' Bill sank to his knees in front of Sherlock, 'You have given me two amazing children, that you want to give me another one....' Bill paused and closed his eyes, 'What did I ever do to deserve you?'

'You were obviously a sinner in a previous life.'

'I love you.'

Sherlock closed his eyes again, 'I love you too.'

'I love all four of you.'

'Are you sure?'

'Yes. But...I meant what I said. If you start using again then I'll take the boys and-'

'I won't.'

'You almost did.'

'But I didn't.'

'Tell me you love again.'

Sherlock opened his eyes and reached out to touch Bill's face.

'I love you. Although why you need me to constantly reaffirm-hmm.'

Bill pulled back from the kiss, 'It's nice to hear.....We're having a baby!'

'Yeah.'

'Can I tell Hamish?'


	104. Chapter 104

Greg set down the box he was carrying and stared at Bill.

'You want me to do what?'

Bill handed him the small bag and Greg whistled.

'Is he using again?'

'He says he's not.'

'You believe him?'

Bill nodded.

'So what do you want me to do with it?'

'Nothing, I'm going to flush it down the toilet. But, well, you've actually done drugs busts here before. You know his hiding places.'

'Where is he anyway? He text me demanding donoughts.'

'Sleeping.'

'Sleeping and eating in one day? You sure he's not pregnant?'

Bill paused. They hadn't discussed telling other people yet, but then he hadn't expected to be asked so directly by Greg. After a long moment he nodded.

'Seriously?' Greg's eyes opened wider, 'That's...that's great.'

Bill did his best to ignore the longing in Greg's voice and instead tried not to smile, 'Yeah.'

'I thought you agreed no more? Sherlock was pretty adamant that you were getting that vasectomy.'

'Didn't quite get around to it yet.'

'How far?'

'About eight weeks.'

'Fucking hell, you move fast. Angus isn't even a year old yet.'

Bill shrugged, 'Well....'

'And how does Sherlock feel about it?'

'He's pleased. A bit overwhelmed with everything going on, but yeah, he's happy.'

'That's great.'

There was something about the way Greg was saying it, as if he was trying to convince himself. Greg caught Bill watching him and sighed.

'Can't help being a bit jealous,' he admitted, 'Myc wanted a big family and, well, you know the rest.'

Bill nodded, it was something he saw every day at work. Greg smiled back at him.

'It's good,' he said again.

'Yeah. It is.'

'So,' Greg shook himself, 'Will we find these drugs or what?'

#

Bill was flushing the toilet for the third time when Sherlock appeared behind him.

'What are you doing?'

'Flushing two grand of heroin and a bottle of morphine down the toilet.'

'Did you find the codine?'

Bill leaned back against the sink and closed his eyes, holding out his hand towards Sherlock.

Sherlock left the room and came back with another bottle.

'How long have they been there?' Bill asked.

'Since before you.' and then quickly, 'I didn't take any.'

'Okay.'

Sherlock looked at him with deep suspicion, 'That's all you're going to say?'

'What else can I say? You said you didn't take anything so I believe you.'

'What if I lied to you?'

'Are you?'

'No.'

'Okay then.'

Sherlock looked uncertain, as if he was expecting an argument. But Bill shrugged.

'Tea?'

Sherlock nodded, 'The baby would like tea.'

Ten minutes later Sherlock was back in the bathroom heaving.

'The baby does not like tea.'


	105. Chapter 105

'What do you mean 'suspended'?' Greg asked his daughter when she returned home from football with Mycroft. The politician had taken over the job of running Beatrice to practice and even he looked slightly sheepish when they returned home an hour early.

'They said I was a savage!' Beatrice kicked her boots off.

'There may have been a minor incident during the game.'

'The match!' Beatrice and Greg corrected in unison.

'...during the match.'

'What sort of incident?'

'I didn't even break the skin!' Beatrice protested over Mycroft's attempt at an explanation.

'You bit someone?'

'It's not my fault if his shoulder ends up in my mouth, is it?'

Greg covered his eyes for a moment, taking several deep breaths before he spoke.

'So what happened?'

Beatrice pouted again, 'I got a three match ban and I have to appologise to Raymond.'

'Raymond? Raymond Baxter? Bea he's three times your size.'

'Yeah, and he made an illegal tackle!'

Greg turned to Mycroft, 'Did he?'

'Honestly, Gregory, I have no idea. He did cry and his mother was rather vocal about his distress. Although if I had known football was so exciting I would have taken an interest sooner.'

Beatrice, much to Greg's delight, had always been the sporty one, while Hamish had no interest in physical exertion and preferred his violin lessons and his books.

'Am I grounded?' Beatrice asked quietly.

'Yeah.'

'That's not fair. There wasn't even any blood! And you didn't ground me when I headbutted Simon the other week.'

'Yeah, well Simon is a little toerag and probably deserved it.'

'Gregory!'

Beatrice just shrugged and tramped off towards the stairs, 'I'll be in my room, then.'

Mycroft waited until their daughter was gone before he spoke, 'She is rather...aggressive when it comes to sports.'

'You should have seen her in the finals last season.'

Mycroft pulled a face, 'I dread to think!' then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Greg's forehead, 'And how are you?'

'Did a drugs bust at Baker Street, Margot exploded out of her nappy and Sherlock's pregnant.'

A dozen different expressions crossed Mycroft's face in the following seconds and Greg, if pressed, would admit he enjoyed seeing the other man struggle for words.

'Are you sure?'

'Yeah, Ingeberg was holding her at the time and I have to say that's got a rather creative vocabulary at times.'

'I mean...Sherlock.'

'Yep. Definitely pregnant and probably clean.' Greg motioned for Mycroft to sit down beside him, 'Bill's looking after him.'

'But with Dr Watson-'

'Yeah, I think that sort of threw them both. But Sherlock's back home and apparently happy, and Bill got to flush a months wages down the bog, so it was fun times all round. Oh, and we had donoughnuts. But then Bill told me what he and Sherlock like to do with donoughnuts and I don't think I'll be eating many of them in future.'

'Oh.'

'But that's nothing compared to what he told me they do with cream eggs.'

'Dear Lord!'

Greg laughed at Mycroft's stricken expression.

'And the babies?' Mycroft asked, 'Explosions excepting.'

'We had a quiet morning and then Ingeberg and Kovačić took them for a walk. Oh, and your parents called. Apparently you promised to take them to a show....'

'Ugh. I was hoping dementia might have finally kicked in and they would have forgotten about that.'

'And you're mum found out about...about John. They want to know about funeral arrangements.'

Mycroft nodded, 'I'll call them later.'

'Is Sherlock going to go?'

'I don't know. I haven't had a chance to speak with him about it.'

'Maybe you should.'

#

Sherlock was prodded awake by Hamish who was sitting on the coffee table staring at him.

'What?' Sherlock shifted on the sofa to get comfortable.

'Daddy's cooking dinner and says I'm to sit here and poke you every five minutes to tell you drugs are bad.'

'Isn't this your bingo night?'

Hamish narrowed his eyes, 'Mrs Hudson said if she had to look at me for one more second then she might do something drastic.'

'What-?'

'It's fine, Daddy said he'll repaint it before she gets back home.'

Sherlock groaned and rolled over, the action making him gag.

'What is Bill cooking?' he asked, scrambling to his feet.

'Bacon. Why?'

'I don't think the baby likes bacon!' Sherlock called as he dashed to the bathroom.

#

Hamish was once again sitting on the coffee table, but this time he was staring at both of his parents.

'Would you like to explain yourselves?'

'Umm?' Bill glanced at Sherlock who shrugged.

'You're having another baby!' Hamish frowned, 'We haven't finished training Potato yet!'

'You're brother is not called-'

'And we have the twins too. Do you have any idea how much work this is going to take?'

'Hamish,' Bill said slowly, 'What exactly are you training them to do?'

'....things.'

'Are these things like the hand gestures you were teaching Angus?'

'It's sign language.'

'Not technically.'

'Well you knew what it meant.'

'Yes, and thankfully your grandmother didn't.'

Hamish looked from one parent to the other, 'Can we have a girl this time?'

'That's not really how it works, Hamish.'

'Not a ginger one.'

'Can't promise anything there,' Bill said, 'Sherlock and I both have a ginger gene so-'

'I do not have a ginger gene!' Sherlock burst out.

'You forget that I've seen all your hair, so don't try that one with me.'

Hamish blinked at Bill, 'What does that mean.'

Squirming uncomfortably under his son's gaze Bill tried to explain, 'It means your dad's hair isn't dark everywhere.'

'It is!' Sherlock protested.

'It's not!'

'Like where?' Hamish asked.

'I'll prove it!' Sherlock made to stand up but Bill put a hand on his arm to stop him, 'Sherlock you can't go flashing your pubes at children. Even when they are your own I'm pretty sure that's frowned upon.'

'You let me watch Potato come out of him,' Hamish pointed out with a sly smile.

'To be fair, Hamish, you mostly watched Murder She Wrote with the porters while you stung them for biscuits.'

Hamish had nothing to respond with except a pleased flash of a smirk.

'Have you told Granny yet?'

'Not yet, no.' Sherlock admittetd.

'Can I be there when you do?'

'Why?'

'Because she said you were a feckless father and daddy was an unambitious sponger.'

Bill and Sherlock exchanged looks.

'I will give you five hundred pounds if you let me tell her,' Bill said.

Sherlock raised his fist, 'Count of three?'

'Okay, rock, paper-'


	106. Chapter 106

Two days after Sherlock came home he walked out of the bedroom in his best suit. Bill and Hamish looked up from the table where they were having breakfast. Bill met Sherlock's gaze and then turned back to offer Angus another spoonful of egg. 

'So you're going to the funeral then?'

'Obviously.' Sherlock tried to sound scornful and almost managed it.

Bill nodded, still looking at Angus, 'You want me to come with you?'

'Why would I want you to come with me?'

'In case you need support,' Bill glanced over his shoulder.

'Support against what? He's dead, it's not like he can do anything to me now.'

Bill and Hamish exchanged a knowing look.

'Sherlock-' Bill began.

'It's fine,' Sherlock said forcefully, and then in a softer voice, 'It's fine.'

Bill just nodded again.

'I should go, Lestrade will be here soon.'

'Greg's going?' Bill was genuinely surprised.

Sherlock pulled a face, 'He called yesterday. He said that it was...appropriate.'

Bill shrugged and Angus banged his spoon on the tray of his highchair, annoyed at being ignored, 'Well, he said, as Hamish gave Angus a finger of his toast, 'I suppose he was Greg's friend. Makes sense he go.'

The door downstairs banged and Sherlock turned to go. But he stopped in the archway and turned to look back at Hamish.

'Hamish, do you...do you want to go?'

Hamish screwed up his face, 'No!'

Bill and Sherlock exchanged small smiles and then Bill got up to follow Sherlock to the door, helping Sherlock into his coat.

'Are you sure?'

Sherlock nodded at him and then darted forward and pressed a kiss to Bill's lips, and then he was gone to join Greg.

#

Mycroft had just put the twins down to sleep when he heard Gregory and Sherlock come in. He walked down the stairs to find Gregory filling the kettle and Sherlock peeling off his coat, looking very much like he wanted to throw himself down into the nearest chair and sulk.

'How was it?' he asked.

'It was a funeral,' Sherlock sneered, 'They put a dead body in a hole. Not generally much variation on that theme.'

'Are you-'

He stopped at the snarl that came from his brother's lips.

'It was fine, Myc,' Gregory said, 'Quiet. Couple of John's old army mates, a few distant relatives. His sister turned up drunk and shouted at Sherlock until she was taken outside by someone else, but other than that it was what it was.'

Mycroft was about to say something else when he heard Bill's voice in the hall, 'You stay right there and don't drip on anything.'

When the other three adults went out they found Hamish and Beatrice standing in the hall, soaking wet and smelling less than fragrent.

'What the hell happened to you two?' Gregory asked.

Both Hamish and Beatrice opened their mouth to speak but Bill got in there first.

'We thought we'd go to visit Sherrinford this morning and since he's gotten that new wheelchair we thought we'd all take a walk.'

'And how did this-' Mycroft waved his hand towards the children, 'Happen?'

'Well, Sherrinford took them for a bit of a joyride and it turns out that you get quite a good speed on those things.'

Mycroft closed his eyes for a second, already anticipating what was coming next.

'But the brakes are also a bit sharper than expected and your brother has a rather funny sense of humour sometimes.'

'What-'

'He braked suddenly at and these two weren't ready so they were pitched into the duck pond.'

Mycroft's eyes opened in alarm, 'Is Sherrinford-?'

'Oh, he's fine. He was well strapped in and thought the whole thing was hillarious.'

Beatrice and Hamish were doing their best to look innocent which was hard to do when you had pond weed stuck to your forehead.

'Upstairs and dry off,' Mycroft commanded. Behind him he could hear Gregory and Sherlock both trying to stifle giggles, 'And I believe a period of incarceration is in order.'

Hamish huffed in protest, 'You're going to ground us? We're weren't even the one's driving!'

'Two weeks sounds suffient. And perhaps a ban on glitter.'

Hamish opened his mouth to protest, but Beatrice, ever the more sensible of the two, elbowed him sharply to shut him up and gave him a meaningful look. Hamish kept quiet but looked murderous.

'Go now,' Bill shifted Angus on his hip and pointed up the stairs.

With one last glare the two children tramped up the stairs. They were almost at the top when the adults below hear Beatrice whispering to Hamish in a gleeful voice.

'It was totally worth it though!'


	107. Chapter 107

Hamish was unusually quiet over dinner and although Bill and Sherlock shared a look about it, neither spoke about it, knowing that Hamish, like John, sometimes needed extra time to process his thoughts before he spoke. Sherlock knew that Bill hated that trait, not because of frustration but purely because it was clearly one of John's traits. But Bill would never, ever voice that, something Sherlock both admired and was incredibly frustrated by.

He waited until Bill was in the shower before speaking to Hamish.

Hamish, for his part, had clearly been anticipating the conversation and when Sherlock eased himself down into his chair with less grace than he would have liked, Hamish climbed up onto his lap like he used to do when he was a toddler. Sherlock pressed a kiss against Hamish's unruly hair and sighed. It was so easy sometimes to forget that his smart mouthed son was only seven and still very much a child in every way.

'Is there anything you want to talk about?' he asked, holding Hamish close.

Hamish didn't reply immediately. Instead he wriggled closer against Sherlock.

'If you had to pick,' Hamish said, not looking at Sherlock, 'Would you pick Daddy or John Watson?'

Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed his face into Hamish's curls for a moment.

'Hamish...without...John,' he tried not to wince at how painful the name felt on his tongue, 'I wouldn't have you. And without you I would never have met Bill. We...we wouldn't have Angus or...or...' Sherlock lifted his chin, 'It's not as simple as either or.'

'But you might have met Daddy anyway. Whether you had me or not. You could have met him in a coffee shop or a pub and you wouldn't have m-'

Sherlock cupped Hamish's face in his hands and forced him to look up.

'Is this the self pitying stage because I haven't got that far in the parenting manual that I stole from Bill's office and quite frankly I wasn't expecting it to start until you were at least twelve.'

Hamish started to smile and then looked down again. Sherlock ran a pale hand through the sandy curls.

'We're-'

'When the new baby comes will you still want me?'

Sherlock closed his eyes again and pulled Hamish flush against him, 'Yes. Yes, of course I will!' he said against Hamish's temple, 'I have wanted you from the moment I found out about you, and I will always want you!'

Hamish didn't seem so certain, his body tense against Sherlock's hold, his eyes still downcast.

'Will Daddy still want me now you are having another baby?'

'Of course he does!' Sherlock declared.

'But he doesn't need me now you and him will have a boy and a girl of your own.'

'Of course we need you. Who else is- what do you mean a boy and a girl?'

'Well Angus is a boy...well, dual. And the new baby is-'

'A girl?' Sherlock blinked, 'How...?'

Hamish made a vague gesture towards the kitchen where Sherlock knew his scan picture was stuck.

'Daddy showed me.'

Sherlock, who knew Hamish better than anyone else in the world, took a breath, 'How exactly did he show you?'

'He showed me the arms and legs and heart, and then when I asked where the winkie was he said she didn't have one....Sherlock are you alright?'

Sherlock subconsciously ran a hand across his swollen abdomen and bit back a smile before he looked down at Hamish.

'She?'

Hamish, for his part, just looked confused and slightly worried at Sherlock's distant behaviour.

'You're going to have sister?'

'Apparently,' Hamish said, 'Although that's not the real issue here.'

'If it's not-'

'We don't have enough bedrooms.'

'That's still....I....is your dad still in the shower?'

'The water stopped running ten minutes ago so I think it's safe to say he's been privvy to most of this conversation.'

'Oh. Right. Then-'

'Then perhaps you two can start thinking about names?' Bill walked into the living room, hair still damp from his shower, and he knelt before Sherlock's chair, where Hamish was still curled against Sherlock, 'Best to pick one now before Violet gets wind of things.'

It almost broke Sherlock's heart how Hamish peeked over Sherlock's arm to look up at Bill.

Bill leaned down and pressed a kiss again Hamish's head and then leaned back.

'How about we go out for dinner?'

'Angelo's?' Hamish perked up.

Bill laughed, 'Fine. Angelo's. But no crime talk.'

Sherlock grumbled at that particular restriction, but then he had to dash to the bathroom. Bill helped Hamish into his coat and knelt in front of him.

'I heard what....Hamish, you are my son. Maybe not biologically....but you are MY son. And you have been since the moment you were born. When I met Sherlock I knew...I just knew....and then you...I knew from even before you were born, and bear in mind I didn't have that long to prepare for that, like half an hour....' Bill laughed, 'From the moment you were born I wanted you to be mine. I wanted Sherlock..to..be...to be mine. And you...YOU are what brought us together. If it wasn't for you then I'd be a sad single living in an attic of a flatshare and Sherlock would be pining away and probably drugged out of his eyeballs,' Bill pushed an errant curl off Hamish's forehead, 'YOU have made so many lives better just by existing,' he smiled, 'So what are you capable of when you really make the effort?'

Hamish was looking down at his fists, 'What if I'm like Him?'

'Him?'

'John Watson?'

A thousand emotions flooded Bill at once, but then he sighed.

'Then that would be okay.'

'Really?' Hamish looked skeptical.

Bill nodded, 'There's only so much we can teach you. Sherlock says it nature versus nurture, but....you are not him. You are you.'

Hamish slowly buttoned up his coat before he spoke.

'Can we get the seafood platter?'

Bill grinned, 'Yeah, but me and you are sharing it because Angus can't have the scallops and the prawns make Sherlock sick.'


	108. Chapter 108

Sherlock had tucked Angus and Hamish into bed and quietly made his way back down the stairs to where Bill was sitting at the desk, a medical journal open in front of him and his notebook beside it. Once upon a time he had witnessed John Watson doing the same thing. The difference now was the intensity with which Bill read, the pages of notes he took and the meeting he would have with his staff to discuss changes.

'What are you doing?' Sherlock asked.

'There's a really good article in here about breach births and I thought I would do a refresher session with my team next week taking into account the new methods of....are you okay?'

Sherlock nodded, 'Fine.'

'You're very pale,' Bill was on his feet in an instant, guiding Sherlock towards a chair, 'Sit down, love.'

He eased Sherlock into his chair, then retrieved the blanket from the back of the sofa, tucking it around the detective and then tilting his chin upwards so Sherlock had to look at him.

'Are you okay?'

Sherlock nodded and attempted a smile, 'Tired. Pregnant. Hungry.'

'Hungry?' Bill was back on his feet in an second, 'You should have said! What do you want?' he was already in the kitchen and opening the fridge, 'Eggs? There's some noodles left from last night or-'

'Mashed potatoes.'

'Okay, we have some of the ready mashed stuff, is that okay?'

'Yes.'

Bill pulled the carton out of the fridge and closed the door, but before he got as far as the microwave Sherlock spoke again.

'In a sandwich.'

He flinched and set the timer on the microwave, 'That's disgusting.'

'With Nutella.'

As the mash heated, Bill walked through to the living room where Sherlock was sitting.

'Are you fucking serious?'

Sherlock looked up at him and blinked slowly.

'It's what the baby wants.'

'This baby is a demanding little minx!'

'She is.'

Bill froze mid step and then slowly turned around, 'So...you know then.?'

'Hamish told me.'

'It was supposed to be a surprise.'

'You stuck the photo onto the fridge so I'm not sure how much of a surprise you thought it was going to be!'

Bill bit his lip to contain his smile.

'We're having a girl?' Sherlock asked quietly.

'Yeah.'

Sherlock nodded thoughtfully, staring into the fire as he considered what to say next.

'I think she would like a satsuma with her sandwich.'

Bill smiled and returned to the kitchen just as the microwave beeped.

#

'Oh, sweetheart, don't you be worrying about that!' Mrs Hudson patted Bill's arm.

'But..'

'But nothing. It's all taken care of,' and she pushed through to the kitchen and started to unpack shopping.

'Sherlock?' Bill asked, interrupting Sherlock's thinking time.

'Hmm?'

'Sherlock,' Bill frowned, 'Did you buy the building from Mrs Hudson?'

'Yes. Obviously. I couldn't risk it passing to her sons who are-'

'We own the house?'

'Yes.'

'How?'

'My trust fund matured and Mycroft helped me-'

'Mycroft was in on this?

Sherlock met Bill's gaze and shrugged, 'Does it matter?'

'I...no. No...I suppose it doesn't.'

'Mrs Hudson will live here until her death and she's granted planning permission to convert the loft so...are you okay?'

Sherlock looked concerned which made Bill smile.

'Take your clothes off.'

'...what?'

'Take them off,' Bill grinned, already steering Sherlock towards the sofa.


	109. Chapter 109

The next thing that happened scared everyone, but perhaps no one more than Sherlock.

Bill ran as soon as he got Greg's call.

'What happened?'

'He's fine,' Greg steered Bill out of the hospital room, as Mycroft spoke quietly to his brother, 'Aside from being off his tits on codeine.'

'What?' Bill tried to push past Greg, but the policeman stopped him again, 'How?'

'He slammed his hand in the microwave at the yard, no don't ask me how because I have no idea, and has broken two fingers. He was screaming about how much pain he was in so the nurse gave him a couple of codeine to shut him up.'

'He takes a bad reaction to those!'

'Yeah, well we all know that now.'

'That should have been in his notes....christ, has he been awful?'

'He was fine when he was still in the happy stage, but then he threw up and started to get a bit panicky.'

'So you thought it was a good idea to leave him with Mycroft?'

'Mycroft can be very soothing!'

'That's between you, him and your bed.'

'And his car. And the shower. His office....my office. My car. The kitchen-' Greg smirked prompting Bill to cover his ears.

'I do not need to hear this.'

Greg's smile faded slightly and he lowered his voice, 'Look, you haven't seen him high before, which is...brilliant. But Myc and I...we've seen him when it's bad. He doesn't come down well, and I'll be honest, he's going to be a complete bastard for a couple of days.'

'What's new?' Bill glanced at the door, 'Who the fuck gives an addict opiates?'

'Someone faced with Sherlock in full tantrum?'

Bill considered this, 'Fair point. It's not an experience for the unprepared.' he sighed, 'Better see what state the berk is in then.'

Opening the door quietly, Bill stopped when he heard what Sherlock was saying to his brother.

'...he thinks I loved John, and I thought I loved John, it was a logical conclusion to come to, but I didn't. I didn't love John, and I know that now. I love Bill, and I don't tell him that, and it was all so good. I was so good. But he's going to leave me now. He's going to leave and take away my boys-'

'Why would you think that?'

'Because I promised him, when he found my drugs, he made me promise. He said he'd leave.' Sherlock's hand shot out and caught Mycroft's sleeve, 'And it wasn't my fault this time. But he's-'

'He's not going anywhere you prat,' Bill interrupted his husband. Sherlock looked up at him, his pale eyes wide.

'It wasn't my fault!'

'I know,' Bill pushed Sherlock's hair back off his forehead.

'Please don't leave me.' Sherlock's voice was so frightened, so unlike his usual tone that Bill bit his lip to control his own emotions.

'I'm not going to leave you,' Bill leaned down and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's sweaty forehead.

'Do you still love me?'

At Sherlock's words Mycroft turned away, not wanting to see his brother like that.

'Of course I do.'

'Even though I'm high?'

'Well I'm not too thrilled about that part, but for once I can't blame you. How's your hand?'

Sherlock held up his hand to show Bill his strapped fingers, 'Fine. Drugs are lovely.'

'Yeah, well don't you be getting any ideas about that. How did you manage to slam it in a microwave anyway?'

Sherlock glanced at the doorway where Greg was hovering and then lowered his voice to a whisper, 'I'll tell you later.'

At Sherlock's words Greg shook his head and pulled his phone out, 'I swear to god, Sherlock, if you've put a toe in the microwave again I'll kill you.....Donovan, yeah, no, no, he's fine. Look, can you go and check the microwave for me....'

As he walked into the hallway to finish his conversation, Sherlock looked up at Bill with a slight smile, tried to tap the side of his nose and missed.

'It was a finger!'


	110. Chapter 110

When Bill heard the rapid approach of heels in the corridor, he shared a look with Greg who was wearing a matching expression of horror. Before either of them could speak, Violet Holmes burst into the room in a cloud of perfume and scarves.

'Oh Sherlock, what have you done?'

Sherlock, who was well into his come down, glared at her and clutched his sick pan closer to his chest.

'He's fine, Violet. Just a bad reaction to some painkillers.'

'I didn't ask you, young man!' Violet snarled at Bill, 'If you took better care of him then he wouldn't be in a hospital bed!' she softened her voice when she turned back to Sherlock, 'What on earth did you do?'

'Broke my fingers' Sherlock muttered, trying not to heave.

This prompted Violet to turn back to Bill, 'Did you do this to him?'

'You'll have to be a bit more specific,' Bill said, 'Do you mean his hand, the painkillers or getting him pregnant?'

There was a second before Violet processed what Bill had said in which Sherlock groaned.

'You said I could tell her!'

Greg suddenly got very interested in his phone and stood up, 'I should take this....'

'It didn't even ring, you bastard!' Bill hissed at him as he passed.

Violet was now standing over Sherlock, who was furious.

'How could you do this to me? So irresponsible of you!'

'Um,' Bill stepped forward, 'He's a grown man not a wayward teenager.'

'And what would you know about it? He obviously can't be trusted to make his own decisions and you forcing him to have more children he doesn't want-'

'I do want them,' Sherlock protested, but Violet ignored him.

'He can't be that far along, there's still time to deal with this quietly.'

'Excuse me?' Bill's hands curled into fists and he struggled to keep his composure.

'Even if it's past the cut off, I'm sure Mycie can sort it out.'

'That's my daughter you're talking about.'

'Well if you want another child so much then you should find someone else to have it with. At the very least you could get a better job so you can support them.'

'We manage just fine.'

'And what defect are you going to spring on us this time?'

Sherlock made a small noise, 'My children are not defective.'

'One bastard and one broken one. Of course they are defective. If you'd married that nice doctor instead then-'

'Get out!'

Violet turned fully to face Bill.

'What did you just say to me?'

'Get out. Now.' he leaned forward and pushed the call button by Sherlock's bed, 'You aren't welcome here.'

'You can't speak to me like that.'

'You might have bullied your sons into silence, but I'll talk to you whatever way I fucking please.'

'Who do you think is going to have to pick up the pieces when you leave him? Or when one of those boys turns out to be a serial killer?'

'I'm not going to leave him, Violet. Ever. Although you could well be right about the serial killer part.'

'You shouldn't joke about things like that!'

'I'm not joking. You've met Hamish, right? Well if you ever want to see any of our kids again then you need to learn to respect your own children first.'

'I love my boys!'

'I love mine too,' Bill nodded to the nurses who had just arrived and were looking between, 'Think about it.'

Violet huffed as she was escorted out and Bill moved immediately to Sherlock's side.

'I'm sorry about that,' he said.

Sherlock nodded and handed him the cardboard sick pan.

'I threw up.'


	111. Chapter 111

Sherlock had reached the shivery, sweaty stage of his comedown, and was both too cold and too hot at once. That combined with the rampant morning sickness had made an IV necessary and the hospital were refusing to let him home until he was keeping fluids down.

When he woke up from a feverish nap it was to two wide eyed faces only inches from his own.

'Are you dying?' Beatrice asked conversationally.

'Daddy said it was some painkillers,' Hamish added, 'Are you a smack head?'

'Now children,' Mycroft's voice cut across them, 'We agreed that Sherlock needs to rest.'

'There's nothing wrong me, Mycroft!' Sherlock snarled and tried to push himself upright.

'You smell like Mrs Hudson's bins when she forgets to put them out.'

'Don't you have someone else to annoy?'

Hamish and Beatrice shook their head in unison.

'Uncle Bill is shouting a nurse in the corridor so we have to stay in here so we don't hear the rude words he uses.'

'What's an opiate?' Hamish asked.

'How exactly do they put a catheter in?'

'Are you going to get divorced now that you're a smack head?'

'I'm not a-' Sherlock started.

'How exactly do you buy heroin?'

'What's withdrawal?'

'And why did Uncle Bill call that nurse a fuck-nugget?'

'What is a fuck-nugget anyway?'

Mycroft at least had the good grace to cover his smile with his hand while the children continued to stare expectantly at the consulting detective.

#

Bill returned looking flushed but slightly less angry than he had when he'd left.

He took one look at the pleading expression on Sherlock's face and ushered the children towards the door. In his very tired, dehydrated and slightly delerious state Sherlock could only wave and they were dispatched to Nana Blisset and Anthea who were waiting in the corridor to collect them and wrestle them into submission.

'How are you feeling?' Bill asked.

'Don't ask stupid questions.'

'They're the only ones I know how to ask,' Bill tucked Sherlock's blanket in closer around him, 'If this is what you are like after a couple of codeine then what was your comedowns like in the days of your morphine and cocaine cocktails?'

'Bill, the answer to your question is that Sherlock didn't come down,' Mycroft cast a glance at his brother, 'He spent eight years in a state of permanent high.'

Bill, who only knew some of the details of Sherlock's previous life, blew out a deep breath, 'Holy shit!'

'Cocaine helped me think,' Sherlock closed his eyes as he exhaustion started to over take him and he he got lost in memory, 'And morphine...morphine is lovely.'

'That may be how it seemed, but you repeatedly risked your own life, you almost died more than once. And that's before we start on the less savoury aspects of those years.'

'Mycroft is talking about sleeping rough and fighting and all the sex.'

'Sherlock, please,' Mycroft sighed, 'This is neither the time nor the place.'

'No,' Sherlock's head lolled back, his eyes still closed, 'Can't be discussing that. But there were lots of fights and lots...LOTS of sex.' he added in a stage whisper.

Bill shook his head, an affection smile his only response.

'I was considered to be very attractive when I was younger.'

'You're gorgeous, love.'

'Mycroft always told me I looked odd!' Sherlock opened his eyes and looked sadly up at Bill.

'In fairness you were quite a strange looking young man,' Mycroft sniffed, unrepentant.

'Well three hundred and forty two people didn't think so.'

Despite that revelation, Bill was actually quite impressed with his husband's tally, and slightly smug that out of all those people he was the one Sherlock had picked.

'Three hundred and forty two?'

'And a half.' Sherlock clarified, closing his eyes again and starting to drift into that strange space between waking and sleeping.

'How can you have a half-?' Bill began, but Sherlock was speaking again.

'But you musn't tell Mycroft about that one,' he said, the words slightly slurred and far apart.

'Okay I won't. But why-' he had turned to look to Mycroft for clarification, but Mycroft was already gone.

Bill closed his eyes.

'Oh fuck!'


	112. Chapter 112

Greg was making coffee, horrible decaf crap, when Mycroft came home. He smiled.

'Hey love, coffee?' It was only as he stepped forward that he noticed how pale Mycroft was, 'Christ, you're shaking!' he went to take Mycroft by the arms to steer him into a seat but Mycroft shrugged him off, 'What's happened? Is it Sherlock?'

At the sound of his brother's name Mycroft's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing, and then it changed again and he looked like someone had just stabbed him in the chest. He looked at Greg for a long moment, eyes filled with some unidentifiable emotion, and then he turned and walked stiffly to his study, the click of the lock echoing up the hallway.

#

Mycroft had gone straight home, Sherlock's words running on a loop through his mind, and the roar of blood in his ears. He clenched his fists against the seat edge in an effort to stop his hands shaking. 

Sherlock had never had any qualms about lying to him, but Mycroft knew his brother well enough to know that he would never lie to Bill. But he would know when he spoke to Gregory, know when he looked at him. And so he'd walked into the kitchen and Gregory had smiled at him and all the carefully prepared words Mycroft had rehearsed just wouldn't come.

Because he looked at his husband and he knew.

He knew.

#

'What happened at the hospital?' Greg demanded as soon as Bill answered his phone.

'Um.'

'Mycroft has come home pale as a ghost and locked himself in his study. Did something happen? Is Sherlock okay?'

'Yeah, look...Sherlock sort of let something slip when Mycroft was in the room. About you and him.'

'What about me and him?'

Bill recited what Sherlock had said and then clarified the full story which Sherlock had told him.

'Fuck!' Greg leaned back against the counter and closed his eyes, 'I am so sorry, Bill.'

'Don't be. It doesn't matter.

Greg was about to apologise again when he registered the amusement in Bill's voice he started to get angry, 'You don't sound too fucking upset.'

'Nah mate, I think it's fucking hilarious.'

At that Greg was slightly throw, 'W..what?'

'Yeah, I mean, the look on your face when it happened must have been priceless.'

'It wasn't like that-'

'I know. Don't worry about it. I don't care if he's slept with half the men in London, and from what he's been telling me it seems he made a pretty good attempt at it. At the end of the day he picked me, right? So it doesn't matter what happened before. Besides, he clearly put all that practice to good use, he does this thing with his tongue and a finger that-'

'I don't care!' Greg shouted, silencing Bill.

'Sorry,' Bill was quiet and sombre, 'I shouldn't be...I didn't think...how's Mycroft?'

'He looks like someone has stabbed him in the heart.'

'You need to talk to him and explain things or he'll shut down, you know how he is.'

Greg knew, better than anyone else.

'Look, I should leave you to it, and Sherlock's in the middle of telling me how he lost his virginity to their gardener when he was fifteen. You probably shouldn't mention that one to Mycroft either. Don't worry about Bumble Bea, Mrs Hudson is staying in our flat to keep an eye on the boys and apparently Mrs Turner is coming over to play some board games, which means they are probably playing poker and trying to give themselves diabetes by eating their body weight in cake. We'll talk later, yeah?'

Greg hung up, part of him jealous that Bill was so easy going about Sherlock's previous misdeeds, and part of him was having his heart broken because he could only imagine what was going through Mycroft's head, especially as he hadn't heard the full story.

He walked down to Mycroft's study and did something he'd never done before, he knocked on the door. When there was no response he called out Mycroft's name.

'Myc, let me in. I...I know what you think and I want to explain...Mycroft please?'

There was no response, but Greg knew he was in there, he could feel the pull of Mycroft's presence and it was painful to know that the person he loved was only a few feet away and hurting so much.

All of the energy drained out of Greg and he leaned against the door for support, the dark wood cool against his forehead.

'I...it was before I moved to Homicide, back when I was still in Organised Crime. We were doing a raid and there was this scrawny scarecrow of a junkie getting in the way and....but you already know that, don't you?'

Greg swallowed and took a few deep breaths before continuing, wishing he could see Mycroft's face to know what he was thinking.

'He was high as kite and offered sex in return for me letting him go. Before I could even say anything he was on his knees and had my cock in his mouth. He moves like a whippet, especially when he was on coke. I pushed him off and arrested him for assaulting a police officer. I bet you know that too, but you obviously thought he'd swung a punch at someone or something. Funnily enough those charges didn't stick and he was free to go before we'd even finished processing him at the station. Of course now I know why that was.'

The memory of Sherlock's indignation rose for the first time in years. The look of shock on his face when Greg said no. And his declaration of 'it works with everyone else!'

'It was three seconds, fifteen years ago. Sherlock's never brought it up, I assumed he'd forgotten. I know I had. I forgot all about it because...because something else happened that day.'

Another memory, so much clearer, a black car, two men in dark suits, a bag over his head, and then...

'I met you.'

Greg paused, struggling to describe that moment.

'I came to in a warehouse a gun pointed to the back of my head. I thought I was going to die. And then...then you walked in...' Greg's voice cracked as he spoke, 'You walked in and said my name and I felt like I'd been hit by a train.'

He allowed himself a moment to remember how he felt in that second and he felt the tears welling up in his eyes.

'I knew...I knew right then that it was you. You. And...well after that, when I got home, my wife knew it too. I think that's why she...that doesn't matter. Because I never thought for a second that you would ever want someone like me. But I wanted you. I wanted you so much it was physically painful. I was like a fucking teenage girl every time your name came up on my phone and I had to physically stop myself from dropping to my knees every time you turned up at my office or a crime scene.'

And that raw lust was still there, every time he looked at or thought about Mycroft. But it was deeper now, it deeper long before they ever got together.

'Christ, Mycroft, you have no idea what you did to me...the suits, the voice, the way you smile...all those years I would get hard just thinking about you. And I...I got to know you then, slowly...and...and you're more, you're so much more than...you're the most intelligent person I've ever known, and...and you're funny. I never thought you would be funny...and loyal. And I saw every single thing you did for your brother, even though the little bastard never appreciated any of it and...and behind all that ice and barbed wire you have the most delicate heart....' Greg straightened up and took a deep breath, 'Nine years I waited...hoping that maybe...and then it all happened at once. That fight...christ we said the most awful things to each other...when I kissed you I never expected you to kiss me back. I honestly thought I'd be found washed up on the south bank the day. But the next day you came to my flat...do you remember?' Greg bit his lip, 'Of course you do, you remember everything.'

Greg laid his hand against the door wishing Mycroft would respond in some way, any way.

'For fifteen years all I could think about was you. On that night, in that warehouse, if someone told me I would end up married to you...have children with you...get to sleep beside you every night...I would have told them they were crazy. Even though that was what I wanted from the second you walked out of the shadows. And I won't ever stop wanting you.'

Knowing he was not going to get a response now, Greg sighed again and backed a step away from the door.

'I love you Mycroft. Just you.'

And with that Greg turned away from the door and climbed the stairs.


	113. Chapter 113

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bill and Sherlock are dealing with this in a slightly different way than our other boys.

'Okay aside from that Moriarty bloke and a couple of serial killers, have you slept with anyone else famous?'

Bill was sitting on the chair beside Sherlock, his feet propped up on the guard rail as they shared a box of fried chicken, which apparently the baby liked. Only if Sherlock was able to dip them in orange juice. But Bill was nothing if not accommodating.

'There were a few actors who were popular at the time, an MP, a TV weatherman-'

'Which one?' Bill asked eagerly.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, 'You're enjoying this!'

'Best fun I've had all week!' Bill winked at him.

Sherlock seemed to switch off for a moment and then he blinked several times.

'Are there any more chicken legs left?'

'Two chicken legs, a wing and a goujon.' Bill said offering Sherlock the box. He watched as Sherlock bit into the chicken leg and then licked the grease off his lips.

'Why are you staring?'

'I've never seen anyone eat a fried chicken leg so erotically before.'

'You are a very strange man.'

'Thank you.'

Sherlock looked down into his polystyrene cup, 'Most people would not want to hear these things.'

Bill took his time chewing the mouthful of chicken he had before he spoke, 'Do you think I'm most people?'

'No,' it came out as a whisper.

'Well then,' Bill flashed a smile even though Sherlock still wasn't looking at him, 'And besides, you said I was in the top five, and since one of them was a trained dominatrix she doesn't count, so technically I'm in the top four, which is pretty impressive considering-' he stopped speaking when Sherlock snapped his head up and glared at him.

'I did not wish to share my life with any of them!'

Bill nodded slowly and gave Sherlock a gentle smile, 'Which really means I'm number one, right?'

Sherlock held his gaze for a moment and then thrust out his cup, 'I require more orange juice.'

Bill took the cup from him and pressed a swift kiss to his forehead, 'Yes your majesty.'

He refilled Sherlock's cup and handed it back to him, for which he recieved a nod but no thanks. Instead Sherlock tilted his chin.

'Another chicken leg!'

'That'll be six!'

'It's for the baby!' Sherlock looked affronted at having his request questioned, to which Bill laughed and once more passed his husband the box.

'Alright, now, this weatherman....'


	114. Chapter 114

It was almost 2am before Mycroft opened the door and ventured upstairs.

The words Gregory said had been swirling around his mind for hours.

'....he was on his knees and had my cock in his mouth.... three seconds, fifteen years ago....on his knees...on...'

'I met you.... I felt like I'd been hit by a train...'

Mycroft took a shuddering breath, his fingers tightening momentarily on the banister.

'I knew right then that it was you.'

He took another two steps, Gregory's voice echoing in his head, pulling him upstairs. He opened the door to the nursery where Margot and Jean-Christophe where asleep. He paused to watch them. Margot was spread eagled in her sleep, so like Beatrice. But Jean-Christophe was a neat and contained child, one finger hanging in the corner of his mouth was the only sign he had moved at all since he'd been put down earlier, presumably by Gregory.

Gregory.

Mycroft closed his eyes again for a second.

'Just you.'

He gently shut the door and crossed the hall to their bedroom expecting to see Gregory there. But the bed was neatly made and there was no sign that Gregory had been in the room at all.

'Just you....'

Trying to ignore the panic in his chest Mycroft walked the six steps it took to reach the door of the guest bedroom. He stopped with his hand on the handle. What if Gregory wasn't there either?

'Just you...'

Mycroft turned the handle slowly.

The light from the hall spilled into the room and illuminated the bed. Mycroft gripped the handle tighter. Gregory was curled up on the farthest side of the bed, his back to the door, taking up as little space as he could.

He stood there for several long moments before he ventured closer, each step seeming to take Herculean effort. He had barely reached the side of the bed when he heard Gregory breathe. He knew that breathing pattern well from his time sitting by Sherlock's hospital bed trying to ascertain whether he was conscious or not, and more recently the years he has spent sleeping beside Gregory listening to the change in his breathing as he drifted into sleep, or had a bad dream.

Gregory was awake.

Mycroft took another step towards the bed, mouth open to speak, but Gregory beat him to it.

'If you want me to leave then I will.'

Mycroft's knees hit the edge of the bed and he practically fell forwards onto it, held up by his hands he edged towards his husband...and paused.

Gregory hadn't moved at all, and all Mycroft could hear now was his own hear hammering in his chest. With a shaking hand he reached out, fully expecting Gregory to flinch away from him. It was no more than he deserved. He'd...he hadn't listened. Hadn't responded. He'd allowed this wonderful, amazing man to go to bed....not even their bed....alone. Alone and thinking that Mycroft didn't...

Mycroft's hand closed gently on Gregory's shoulder, and when Gregory didn't shrug him off, Mycroft increased the pressed, asking Gregory to turn around.

The police man rolled over onto his back and looked up at Mycroft, his deep brown eyes creased with uncertainty and pain. Without even realising he was doing it, Mycroft reached a hand up and gently stoked the side of Gregory's face.

'Mycroft...'

'It doesn't matter.'

Gregory's breath caught as he tried to keep his emotions in check. Mycroft took the opportunity to speak.

'It's you,' he said, looking deeply into Gregory's eyes, 'You...you said I was your train, but...you are my meteor.'

Gregory reached up then, cupping the back of Mycroft's neck, pulling him closer until their foreheads were pressed together.

'Just you....' Mycroft repeated Gregory's words from earlier that evening, and then, still with his eyes closed, the warmth of Gregory's hand on his neck and feeling Gregory's heartbeat where they were pressed against each other, 'It will always be you. Just you.'

'Mycroft...I...'

'I love you,' Mycroft whispered, his heart easing as he said the words.

'You know it's only you.?'

Mycroft inclined his head just enough to indicate that he knew.

'I waited my whole life for you,' Mycroft said, repeating the words he had said to Gregory sever years before on the night he had asked him to marry him, but this time he had something else to add, 'And I had no idea what I had been waiting for, or even that I had been waiting at all. Every thing we were...everything we did before...it...it doesn't matter. None of it matters, it never mattered until you, and if I lose you now then....'

Mycroft stopped, trying to compose himself. And in that second Gregory tilted his head and pressed his lips gently against Mycrofts.

'I love you so much Mycroft Holmes.'

'Holmes-Lestrade,' Mycroft breathed against Gregory's lips.

They made love slowly and silently that night in the unfamiliar bed, clinging desperately to each other like drowning men, Mycroft's face buried against Gregory's neck, the only sounds the soft whisper of their names and the gentle rustle of the sheets beneath them.


	115. Chapter 115

When Greg woke up he was alone in the bed and his heart clenched with fear that Mycroft had changed his mind. Then he heard the politicians voice across the hall.

'Orange? Really, Cabbage? Someone should do a study on this. Perhaps your uncle Sherlock. Shall we bag this up and send it to him?'

Greg bit his lip as he listened and wondered what Mycroft's colleagues and enemies would think if they could him talking to his baby right at that moment.

'There we go, darling, that's much better, isn't it. Although I rather think we shall have to burn that sleep suit and sheets. Are you hungry? Shall we go and get you some breakfast before your brother wakes up? Yes? Yes I think we shall.'

This was followed by the sound of footsteps along the hall and down the stairs. Greg lay still and listened to the sound of Mycroft moving about in the kitchen and talking to Margot as he went. But the sound of a whimper on the baby monitor had him out of bed and in the nursery in seconds, scooping up a sleepy Jean-Christophe and cradling him close.

By the time he changed his son and made it downstairs, there was a cafetiere of coffee on the table an a ready bottle of formula sitting beside Greg's mug. Mahler was playing in the background and Mycroft was smiling down at Margot as he fed her.

'You're wearing my jumper,' Greg said.

Mycroft glanced down at his attire and then smiled up at Greg, 'So I am.'

Greg lifted the bottle of formula Mycroft had prepared for Jean-Christophe and shook it shook it slightly to check the temperature.

'I like it when you wear my clothes.'

'I know.'

'It's kinda sexy.'

'I'm aware,' Mycroft quirked a smile and looked down at Margot, 'But we shouldn't talk about such things in front of the children.'

'How do you think we ended up with these children in the first place?' Greg thumbed the lid off the bottle and it skittered across the table, 'Is there anything you don't look sexy in?'

Mycroft's cheeks coloured slightly at the compliment, but he kept his attention firmly on Margot.

'I...I've asked Ingeberg if she would work this evening. Kovačić also offered his services. I do believe there may be a romance blossoming there. We should remember to send flowers.'

Greg was well aware of the looks that the formidable Ingeberg and the mighty Kovačić exchanged when they crossed paths and was wholly in approval of Mycroft's matchmaking in this respect.

'We should order them takeaway from that fancy french place you like down the road.'

'Oh, that is a good idea,' Mycroft looked pleased for a second, and then he forced a neutral expression, 'We, off course, should provide adequate sustenance to our employees during working hours.'

'And maybe a bottle of that Faustino you've stockpiled for guests.'

'I do think they would- Gregory!' Mycroft suddenly realised the game they were playing and he glared up at his policeman husband.

'What?' Greg tried to look innocent but was well aware that his slight smirk was giving him away.

'I...well...' Mycroft cleared his throat, 'Perhaps a bottle of the Château Margaux?'

Greg leaned over and kissed the top of Mycroft's head, 'That's my boy.'

He settled into a seat with Jean-Christophe, 'And why are they looking after the children.'

'I thought that...perhaps....if you were amenable...we could go out. To dinner. We haven't been in so long, and things have been-'

'I'd love to!' Greg cut across Mycroft's slightly flustered speech.

Mycroft's smile was slight and shy, 'I thought perhaps The Lanesborough...'

'Myc, that's always full of politicians an royalty and people are...ARE someone-'

'And I want to show my husband off.'

Greg stopped speaking and looked across at Mycroft.

'I am so proud to be your husband,' he said carefully, 'I don't need big gestures or...just having you, that's all I need.'

He watched the way Mycroft swallowed hard and then devoted all of his attention to slightly repositioning Margot.

'And...and what if I want to show you off?' he said, still not looking at Greg, 'What if I want to take you to dinner, to walk through a room full of the most influential people in the city and show off the fact that out of the whole world...out of the whole word you picked me.'

He watched, stunned into silence, as Mycroft swallowed again, blinking rapidly.

'Mycroft...' he began, and then the door banged and Beatrice slammed in like a whirlwind, her glasses hanging off and her hair fanning out behind her like a wild red sheet. Anthea was struggling to keep up with her, running in stilettos not being a part of her MI5 training. Beatrice glanced, wide eyed at her parents and then slammed a white carrier bag down on the table.

'I won eighteen mars bars at poker!' she declared, vibrating slightly with excitement.

Greg was about to congratulate her on her slightly dubious passtimes and was making a mental note to talk to Mrs Hudson about appropriate activities for 7 year olds but Bea was already shoving a fist into her pocket.

'And I won five hundred and forty pounds on the dogs!'


	116. Chapter 116

'Bill! Billllllll!'

Bill walked out of the kitchen to see what Sherlock wanted and took a second to appreciate the sight of his husband. At eight months Sherlock looked amazing. Healthier, happier. He had more colour in his face, he was calmer, and that belly...Bill had never had a pregnancy fetish, and certainly the men and women he dealt with every day didn't have any effect on him, but fucking hell, he couldn't keep his hands off Sherlock.

'What is it?' he asked.

'Rub my feet!'

'Rub your own feet.'

'I can't see my feet!'

Bill shook his head and went back to the kitchen. He had barely reached the kettle when Sherlock's voice called out again.

'Billlll!'

Sighing he put down teabags and went back.

'What?'

'I require worship!'

Bill raised an eyebrow, 'Do you now?'

Sherlock nodded.

'Would this be the kind of worship that involves the removal of trousers?'

Another nod.

'Hmm. Sounds complicated. Perhaps you could show me what you mean?'

The slight flush of colour on Sherlock's face was worth it. The detective didn't break eye contact with Bill as he undid did own belt and then opened his trousers. Bill licked his lips as Sherlock's hand closed around his own cock and he slowly stroked himself.

'...Sherlock...' he breathed, his own cock now painfully hard at the sight.

Sherlock stopped what he was doing and instead raised his hips just enough to push his trousers down, kicking them off so he was naked from the waist down. He smirked at Bill and then let his legs fall open, fully exposing himself the other man. With one hand he pushed his shirt up so his bare stomach was on full display and he continued to gently caress it as he slowly pushed a finger inside himself.

At that point he couldn't contain himself any more and he arched his back, head thrown back and moaned as he moved his finger in and out. Then he stilled and removed that hand, lifting the finger towards his lips, and Bill couldn't stop himself, he dropped in front of Sherlock and caught him by the wrist before capturing the finger in his own mouth. When he released the digit Sherlock let his hand fall, trailing his fingers up thigh.

Bill reached out but Sherlock shook his head, 'No.'

And then pressed his finger back inside himself watching Bill's reaction.

'Christ Sherlock...'

Bill started to open his own trousers but Sherlock stopped that too with another shake of his head and then another soft moan.

'Are trying to kill me?' Bill whined.

Sherlock looked innocent, well as innocent as someone could when they were putting on a show like the one he was, 'I'm not even touching you.'

'That's the point!' Bill shifted slightly, desperate for some kind of friction. He bit his lip and watched as Sherlock brought himself to orgasm with a final cry, still maintaining eye contact with Bill.

There were a few breathless seconds and then Sherlock opened his legs slight more.

'Now you can have me.'

Bill bit his lip to try and hide his own embarrassment, 'Bit late.'

Sherlock smirked.


	117. Chapter 117

Three days in Geneva had seemed like three weeks and Mycroft had hated every second if it. In the end he decided that the last two days weren't worth being away from Gregory and he took an earlier flight home. It was late when he arrived and thinking Gregory would be in bed, he went straight upstairs.

The lamp was on in the bedroom but Gregory was not there. Mycroft was about to go back downstairs when he heard a sound in the ensuite. 

Gregory was at the sink, his back to the door, so Mycroft was able to observe him for a few seconds without Gregory realising he was there, and he smiled at the sight of his husband.

As if sensing Mycroft was there, Gregory lifted his head and caught Mycroft's reflection in the mirror and spun around, a smile lighting up his face.

'Myc!'

Mycroft nodded, enjoying the sight of his happy husband, He quirked an eyebrow, 'Where you sniffing my colone?'

'I missed you,' Gregory was unembarrassed at being caught.

'And you are wearing my pyjamas too,' Mycroft went on stepping forward, 'That is unacceptable, Gregory. Take them off!'

Gregory lunged towards Mycroft.

They didn't make it as far as the bed, or completely out of their clothing, instead fucking hard in the doorway, Gregory's back pressed against the wooden frame.

Afterwards, when they finally staggered breathlessly to the bed Mycroft kissed Gregory.

'Seems like you really did miss me.'

'I did. I thought about you all the time you were away. I'm surprised I didn't end up with some kind of repetitive strain injury.'

It took Mycroft a moment to understand what Gregory meant, and if it hadn't been for Gregory's little smirk then it would have taken longer.

'So vulgar!'

Gregory just laughed and kissed him again.

'I thought you had to be there until the end of the week though.'

'I didn't want to be away from you any longer.'

'You could have told me you were coming home. What if I'd had a man here?'

There had been a time, following Sherlock's revelation, when they couldn't have joked about that. But now, several months on they could both laugh.

'Then that may have been a bigger surprise than I anticipated.'

'Would have made two of us who got a big surprise tonight,' Gregory rubbed his hips against Mycroft and winked at him.

'Gregory!' Mycroft laughed.

'I can't help it. Three days seemed like forever.'

'For me too.'

'I can't believe you used to have to go away for weeks at a time.'

'I wouldn't have been away this time except it was a personal favour for the Foreign Secretary.'

'Which means he owes you a personal favour now too?'

'Quite.'

'So you still basically run the country.'

'It's not as difficult as dealing with our children.'

'That's probably true.'

'How have they been?'

'They missed you.'

'And I missed them.'

'I think the twins are plotting against me.'

'Gregory they are seven months old, they are incapable of plotting yet.'

'I suppose you are the expert on plotting.'

'Quite.'

'It's those shifty looks Cabbage gives me though.'It's like she's planning where to hide my body.'

'It's probably wind.'

'Hmm.'

'And Beatrice?'

Gregory stopped laughing and looked uncomfortable.

'Gregory?'

'Well...um...the good news is that it will grow back...'

Mycroft closed his eyes.

'Oh Lord!'


	118. Chapter 118

Thanks to their professions, neither man had ever been able to get the hang of a lie in. Which was why they were in the kitchen, making coffee at 6 am. Or rather, Mycroft was trying to make coffee with Greg pressed up against him, kissing the back of his neck.

There was the sound of soft footsteps on the thick carpet of the stairs and then a soft gasp as the walker recognised her father's coat and umbrella in the hall. The footsteps ran then and a whirlwind of red hair and unicorn pyjamas launched itself at Mycroft's legs.

'What did you bring me?' Beatrice stepped back and Mycroft got his first look at his daughter in three days.

'Oh Lord.'

Beatrice frowned up at him defiantly, 'What?'

'You're...you're hair....' he glanced at Greg for help, but the policeman was struggling to contain his smile, 'You have a...a fringe. Of sorts.'

Beatrice continued to stare at Mycroft as if daring him to say anything critical about her new hair style. Mycroft could only stare. Where before Beatrice's hair had fallen in an untamable sheet, it was now interrupted with a savage fringe of multiple lengths.

'I did it myself,' she said, half proud, half challenging.

'I can see that.' 

Behind Beatrice Greg was having silent convulsions. Mycroft continued to stare.

'May I ask why?';

'Why not?' Beatrice shot back, and then, 'Don't you like it?'

'It's...daring.'

Beatrice seemed to take this as a compliment and while Mycroft and Greg shared a look of amused despair Beatrice snatched Mycroft's coffee from the counter.

'You should see Hamish's hair,' she said, taking a sip and pulling a face.

'What's happened to Hamish's hair?' Mycroft asked.

'He's got an afro,' Greg smirked.

#

'Well this is....' Mycroft looked from his daughter to his nephew and realised he didn't have words for this. Gregory had been correct, the only word to describe Hamish's previously unruly curls was now afro. Something he seemed quite pleased about.

'They won't tell us what they used to do it,' Bill shot the two oldest children a look as he carried through mugs of tea.

'It's...'

'Brilliant?' Hamish ventured.

'Not quite the word I was searching for,' Mycroft admitted weakly as he accepted a mug of tea from Bill.

'We can't even get a brush through it,' Bill admitted, 'Sherlock said we should cut it off, but...'

'But it's MY hair!' Hamish pouted, 'And I'm not getting it cut!'

'It's certainly very striking,' Mycroft said diplomatically, 'In fact your grandmother had a similar style when your father and I were children.'

At this Hamish turned, wide eyed to Bill, 'Shave it off! Now!'

As Hamish marched Bill towards the bathroom, Beatrice trailing after them, unwilling to be left out, Greg leaned across and kissed Mycroft's shoulder.

'My clever husband.'

#

Greg was sat beside Mycroft on the sofa of 221b and for once he wasn't the only one shocked into silence. Before them were Beatrice and Hamish, the former in her bee costume, her fringe six different lengths, and the latter in a tutu and white rhinestone encrusted jacket with his hair shaved off.

'You look like you should be fronting a new romantic ensemble.'

Beatrice and Hamish turned to consider each other.

'Your head looks too small for your body,' Beatrice said critically.

'You look like a cubist painting,' Hamish shot back.

There was a moment of silence broken only by the click of the camera on Greg's phone.

'You will destroy that at once!' Hamish demanded, sounding so like Sherlock that it made all the adult in the room smile.

'Shan't.' Greg pouted childishly.

'You shall!' Beatrice stomped up to him with balled fists and a fierce expression.

'Sorry Bumble Bea, no can do. I've already uploaded it to the cloud and ....oh,' Greg turned his phone around so Beatrice and Hamish could see, 'Sherlock has already liked it and sent it on.'

'This is a gross violation of our human rights!' Hamish declared.

'Yeah, well since one of you came out of me and is the reason is I pee myself when I sneeze, I think we are even here.'

'You cannot-!'

Hamish was silenced by Beatrice's hand on his arm and a meaningful look. Once again Greg got the feeling that there was a whole conversation happening that he wasn't part of. Eventually Hamish nodded, drew himself up to his full height, tilted his chin just like Sherlock did and, fixing Greg with a death stare, stalked out of the room, closely followed by Beatrice.

Mycroft had his eyes closed and was taking slow, deep breaths, but it was all Greg and Bill could do to wait until the upstairs door closed before they burst into laughter.


	119. Chapter 119

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wow - this fic is almost at an end, but the response to it has been amazing. ALL of you guys are fabulous - your comments and support have kept me going this year. As a thank you, when this fic reaches 30k views I will giveaway a new fic to a reader. so after 30k ping your ideas to me at claireofbakerstreet@gmail.com and I'll pick one idea at random

'I shall miss them both so much. In all honesty they are the only reason I've kept working after my retirement. They are a delight.'

Bill blinked several times and tried to think of a suitable response for Hamish's teacher. Beside him Sherlock looked slightly smug, confident as ever that his child was amazing in all aspects, and that it was about time someone else recognised that.

'You are talking about Hamish, right?' Bill asked.

Mrs Ripley smiled and nodded, 'And dear Beatrice too. Together they are quite the pair. Never a dull moment.'

'Yeah, you should see our kitchen,' Bill muttered.

'It breaks my heart to lose them, but I'm sure I'll see them again.'

'yeah, on Crimewatch.'

'Normally I wouldn't even mention another student, but give Hamish and Beatrice's unique bond and the family situation....let's just say that make me want to come to work each day. It's been a long time since I've had students so keen to learn and so enthusiastic and so polite and thoughtful alongside that.'

At this even Sherlock sat up straighter.

'Sorry. What?' Bill asked.

'Oh yes' Mrs Ripley enthused, 'Beatrice is on all the sports teams, and dear Hamish is frightfully talented at music. And honestly, I've never met children so talented at maths and science. I know Beatrice is your niece, but I don't think her parents would mind me telling you that both Beatrice and Hamish are working at a level many university students are. I predict great things for them.' she bit her lip and looked apologetic, 'If they can stay out of prison.'

Out of the corner of his eye Bill could see Sherlock's shoulders shaking with silent laughter and Bill sighed.

'They have their moments,' he said.

'Yes,' Mrs Ripley smiled, 'One is never bored.' she pushed a leaf of papers across the desk, 'I hope you don't mind but I've recommended that Hamish, and Beatrice of course but I shall discuss that with her fathers at their appointment, that he be advanced past next year and go straight to secondary and on a fast track placement.'

'I...what does that mean?' Bill started to flick through the papers.

'It means he will continually be advanced based on his work, skills and talents and in all likelihood will be applying for university before he is old enough to shave.'

In the silence that followed Sherlock's bitter outburst Bill looked across at his husband and saw the pain there. Knowing Sherlock's childhood like he did, Bill didn't want that for Hamish, but before he could speak, Mrs Ripley was beaming at them.

'Hamish, as you know is already a year ahead of his age group, it might not seem like much, but when you are seven and your classmates are eight and nine it can seem like decades between you. But Hamish is hugely popular. He's very outgoing, confident and extrodinarily kind.'

'Sorry, are we talking about OUR Hamish?'

Mrs Ripley tutted indulgently, 'He always has time for other pupils and tries to involve as many as possible in his game.'

'Oh christ he's recruiting accomplices!' Bill closed his eyes.

Mrs Ripley giggled, 'I can see where he gets his sense of humour.'

Bill and Sherlock just stared at the slightly scatty woman who was sitting across the table. The number of people who understood and accepted Hamish they could count on one hand, but Hamish seemed to have a talent for winning over ladies of a certain age. He had undoubtably charmed his way into the soon to retire Mrs Ripley's affections. Bill nudged Sherlock to get his attention, and then raised his eyebrows meaningfully. Sherlock just shrugged like he didn't know what was going on. Bill sighed and turned back to Hamish's teacher.

'You are retiring this year?'

'Oh, yes, just from teaching though. I can't keep up with all these modern bullshit methods,' she opened her eyes wide at the swear word, but when Bill smiled she just shrugged and carried on, 'When I started teaching it was all about imparting knowledge, sharing information, learning and growing. Now it's all 'unschooling' and bratty little shits with no boundaries and no hope of a future job because their parents couldn't be arsed teaching them manners or even how to tie their own shoelaces. I have 10 year olds coming into my classroom who don't know how to read. Homework doesn't get done because apparently it's a violation of the child's human rights. We can't even tell a student off for their behaviour any more without a parent coming in donned in their pyjamas and yelling that we are out of order and that their taxes, apparently, pay our wages and therefore they seem to think they own us,' she pursed her lips again, 'But if any of those parents pay taxes I'll eat my own foot.'

Sherlock was openly beaming at this and Bill knew him well enough to know the signs.

'Mrs Ripley,' he said, 'Would you like a job?'


	120. Chapter 120

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angus gets his hearing aids....

'...and they will need to be removed and cleaned each evening. We shouldn't expect massive changes but-'

'Angus?' 

Angus swivelled his head to look at Sherlock, his mouth open in surprise.

'Angus,' Sherlock repeated quietly.

Angus beamed at him and clapped his hands at the sound. But Sherlock looked over his head at Bill.

'He doesn't know what I'm saying.'

'Given his age the hearing aids will be very beneficial in his development, but he -'

'He doesn't know what I;m saying,' Sherlock was getting more distressed by the second.

'Sherlock,' Bill laid a hand on his husbands arm, 'Just listen.'

The doctor cleared her throat before she spoke again, 'Angus has an exceptional range of words to sign. I appreciate that it feels like you are having to relearn and reteach everything. His hearing is never going to be perfect, even with his aids it's only really going to be effective at close proximity and against a quiet background.'

'But he can hear us now?' Bill asked, 'He can hear our voices?'

The doctor nodded, 'Yes.'

Bill leant over to Angus, who was sitting on Sherlock's lap, and pressed a kiss to the toddler's forehead, 'My perfect boy!'

Angus beamed up at Bill and made the sign for 'dad' - his tiny fingers splayed as he tapped his thumb against his forehead.

Before Sherlock could speak or respond, Bill folded his two middle fingers to express his love, making Angus grin.

As the doctor started to talk to Sherlock again, Angus looked up at Bill, wide eyes and slightly scared as he signed 'loud.'

Bill leaned close to his son, just a hair's breath away and tilted Angus's face so he could see Bill's.

'I love you,' Bill whispered as he signed. Angus's smile grew wider and he held his arms out to Bill to be lifted.

'You sign very well,' the doctor said, 'Considering you haven't had long to learn.'

'Oh,I,' Bill shrugged, 'I'm a midwife, I learned to sign at university, it's easier to just be able to talk to the patient without needing a translator.'

The doctor smiled and picked up her notes, 'Next you'll be telling me you can speak Urdu and Nemi!'

'Not Nemi, no. But I do speak Urdu,' Bill shifted Angus slightly on his lap.

'You really speak Urdu?'

Bill shrugged, 'Multicultural society. I speak Dutch, German, a bit of Welsh, Spanish and Turkish too, and I've been swotting up on my Polish and Lithuanian.'

'...oh.'

'Like I said, it's easier if I can talk directly to a patient,' Bill shrugged again, 'Plus it also restricts the number of languages our eldest and his cousin can plot in.'

'His...cousin...that wouldn't be Beatrice Lestrade-Holmes?'

'Yep. That's the one.'

'Oh dear lord!' the doctor paled slightly and then reached for her pad, 'Do you need anything, some sedatives perhaps...?

'No,' Sherlock frowned, 'Why would we?'

'Just a suggestion, but if you need me then...,just call and I'll prescribe whatever you want.'

As Bill cuddled his son, tickling his sides and giggling with him, Sherlock listened to the doctors words and stopped when he realised she was smiling at him.

'What?'

The doctor bit her lip and dropped her gaze back to her notes, 'You sign everything you say, even when you aren't talking to Angus.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest, but as he did so he realised he had his hand in front of his face ready to communicate.

'I...I didn;t realise.'

The doctor smiled then, 'Good. You shouldn't realise, just treat him like your other children. You have other children?'

Sherlock nodded, 'We have a son, and we're having a daughter.'

It was the first time he had said that outloud to someone who wasn't Bill or Mycroft, and it felt strange, but the wide smile it was met with rocked him slightly.

'Wonderful!' the doctor beamed, casting a glance towards Bill and Angus where the midwife was carefully signing 'Potato' to the toddler while saying 'Angus.'

'You'll confuse him!' Sherlock snapped.

'He's growing up in our house, he's already confused,' Bill responded.

'He's very intelligent,' the doctor went on, 'How many words does he have?'

'About a thousand, we haven't counted.....what?'

'Most children his age, even without the hearing difficulty, have between two and three hundred,'

'Angus isn't like those children!'

In the silence that followed, Sherlock felt Bill's hand close gently around his wrist, 'Sherlock?'

From his vantage point on Bill's knee Angus rotated his fist, looking concerned as he did so. 'Lock.'

Sherlock's world melted and all he could see was Angus who was looking up at him, half proud, half afraid. Sherlock, without breaking eye contact, balled a fist and then with the other hand made a slow, peeling motion with his thumb.

Lock. Potato.


	121. Chapter 121

'The baby requires soup.'

Bill looked up from his newspaper at Sherlock who was wrapped in a sheet and glaring defiantly.

'Oh, does she now?'

'Yes. Tomato and bean.'

'Hmm. And how is they my problem?'

Sherlock pulled open the sheet exposing his naked body underneath, his stomach swollen.

'You did this to me,' he said, 'This is your fault. So you shall buy me soup.'

Bill stared at his husband, biting his lip at the stab of lust, 'And if I don't?'

'Then you will not see me naked ever again.'

'You're a cruel, cruel man, Sherlock Holmes.' Bill pushed himself to his feet and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock, 'Tomato and bean?'

Sherlock nodded.

'And where would I get-'

'It's the special at Speedy's this week,' Sherlock cut him off.

'Ten minutes,' Bill promised as he left the flat.

#

It was closer to fifteen minutes by the time Bill opened the door to 221, two cartons of soup in his hand and a deeper knowledge of Mr Chatterjee's erectile dysfunction than he ever needed to know.

'Lock?' he shouted as he started up the stairs, stopping when he heard a painful scream from their flat.

Dropping the soup he took the stairs two at a time, bursting through the door of the flat just as Sherlock screamed his name.

'Sherlock?' he followed the sound and turned into the kitchen just in time to see his daughter born.

#

'I can't even leave you alone for ten minutes,' Bill said, pressing a kiss against Sherlock's temple.

Sherlock was staring in awe at the baby, his hands shaking and his breath ragged as he took in her features.

'Bill, I-'

'You're amazing,' Bill said pulling the sheet back up around Sherlock's shoulders, 'Utterly amazing.'

Sherlock looked up at him and rocked backwards at the look of pure love on Bill's face. He gestured down at their daughter.

'Would you like to hold her?'

Bill nodded, 'Can I?'

Sherlock carefully passed her across, watching how Bill cradled her gently, memorising the look on his face.

'What do you want to call her?' Bill asked.

'I haven't-'

'Sherlock!' Bill didn't believe him for a second, and Sherlock ducked his head half in embarrassment.

'Vivienne.'

'I like it.'

Bill brushed a thumb across Vivienne's forehead, smoothing her whispy hair out of the way.

'She looks like Mycroft,' he said.

'She does not!'

'She does.'

Sherlock pouted but it was half hearted.

'She's beautiful, Sherlock.' Bill was crying now, not even making an attempt to hide it, 'Thank you.'

'Bill, I fail to see-'

'I don't know why you picked me. I don't want to know. I don't want you to explain it incase you change your mind. All...all I know is that you DID pick me. You let me into your life, your bed. You married me. You have given me three perfect children. I don't know who I would be without you, and I promise you that I will do everything I can to make you happy, even though I'm terrified.

'...Bill...'

'One day you are going to wake up and realise that I don't deserve you. That I'm boring and I spend an inordinate amount of time complaining about the microwave and I'm scared that you'll realise that and you'll never know how much I love you.'

'I love you too.'

Bill nodded and looked down, 'I know. I know.'

'I don't say it, but-'

'I know.' Bill sniffed, 'You don't need to say it for me to feel it. I know you love me. That you love all of us. I see it every time you look at one of the boys, or when you come home late and curl up beside me. When I would watch you nursing Hamish or Angus, and right now, when you delivered Vivienne all by yourself and then smiled at her....that's....I know you love us. And I love you. Christ Sherlock I love you so much.'

Sherlock reached out to Bill and pulled the midwife close to him until Bill was resting his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder. 

'You're not boring,' Sherlock whispered so quietly that Bill wasn't sure he heard him at all.

They stayed like that for several minutes, Vivienne craddled in Bill's arms, until the downstairs door banged shut.

'Sherlock Holmes what on earth have you spilled on my stairs?'


	122. Chapter 122

At Bill's insistance, Sherlock and Vivienne were taken to the hospital for a check up.

'You could do that here,' Sherlock protested as Bill helped him get dressed.

'I could, but it looks like you need stitches and I'm not going them here.'

'Why not?'

'Because no part of this flat could be insidered anywhere near sterile. Oh and I text your parents.'

'Why did you have to do that?'

'Someone had to.'

'You could have let Mycroft deal with it, that's his job.'

'It's really not.'

Sherlock just pouted as Bill lifted the car seat with one hand and placed the other on the small of Sherlock's back. Halfway down the stairs Sherlock stopped and looked forlornly at the tomato stain.

'My soup.'

'I'll buy you more soup.'

'I want a chicken pie.'

'A what? Where am I going to get a chicken pie?'

'A Fray Bentos chicken pie one.'

'You'll be hard pushed to find actual meat in one of those.'

'I don't want the meat, just the pastry.'

'Sherlock we are on our way to hospital, exactly how do you expect me to cook you a pie?'

'Mrs Hudson will do it,' and before Bill could stop him, Sherlock was shouting for the landlady.

She came out of her own flat, drying her hands on a towel as she went and smiled down at the still sleeping baby before turning her attention to Sherlock.

'What is it dear?'

'You'll cook me a Fray Bentos pie.'

'I think you forgot a word in that sentence.'

'No I didn't. I was very clear-'

'She means 'please,'' Bill said, shaking his head.

Sherlock didn't say anything and Mrs Hudson just sighed, 'I'll pop to the Food and Wine and get one.'

'And some Smash,' Sherlock added.

'What the hell is Smash?' Bill asked and when Sherlock explained the midwife pulled a face, 'So now we're living in 1940. Lovely.'

'Don't worry, I'll bring it to the hospital later,' she patted his arm.

Sherlock took another step towards the front door and stopped, 'Bill, it hurts to walk.'

'I'm not carrying you.'

'Billlll!'

'I'm carrying Vivienne.'

'I carried her for nine months!'

'You carried her for eight and a half, and there's a slight weight difference between her and you,' Bill opened the door and motioned for Sherlock to follow him, which the detective did reluctantly.

#

'Her name is-'

'Snow Pea.'

Bill frowned, 'Uh, no, her name is Vivienne.'

Hamish pulled a face, 'That;'s what you think,' he muttered.

Beside him Beatrice was staring at the new baby thoughtfully.

'Right,' Bill said, 'What is with the names?'

'Agents should all have code names,' Hamish said.

'Although Daddy says that's not true. But then he wouldn't tell us the truth about that, would he?'

Bill had to admit they were probably right about that assessment, 'Why vegetables?'

'Why not?' Hamish shot back.

'And why don't you have names?'

'My name is Hamish.'

'No,' Bill tried to ignore Sherlock#s smirk, 'I mean,...codenames?'

'Because we are management,' Beatrice spoke slowly as if Bill were simple.

'Management of what?'

'The Firm.'

At Hamish's words Beatrice elbowed him sharply in the ribs, but not before Bill noticed the flash of guilt on their faces and sighed.

'And what sort of 'firm' are you two running?'

Beatrice and Hamish exchanged a look and then Beatrice smiled up at Bill and blinked innocently, '...construction?'

'What does that mean?' Sherlock asked a note of urgency in his voice as he tried to sit up straighter.

'It means no more film nights with Greg. If I'd known that was what you lot were doing last night-'

'It was Mrs Hudson who let us watch Goodfellas last week,' Beatrice said, and something about the way she said it made Bill's heart sink.

'And so what did you watch last night?'

Beatrice blinked at him again through her uneven fringe, 'Shaft.'


	123. Chapter 123

Mycroft startled slightly when the glass was set in front of home, looking up from his laptop to see Gregory smiling down at him, his own glass in his hand.

'What's this?' he asked,

'Champagne.'

'You aren't supposed to have alcohol beca-'

'We,' Gregory said very pointedly, 'Are having a glass to celebrate the safe, albeit unexpected, arrival of our of beautiful niece.'

He tipped his glass towards Mycroft, gesturing for him to drink.

Mycroft closed his laptop, but couldn't quite lift his eyes to meet Gregory. He stared instead at the glass, where condensation was steaming the outside.

'She-'

'Is amazing,' Gregory said, stepping forward and dropping down into the seat opposite Mycroft, 'Fifteen minutes, Bill said, and Sherlock did that himself. That's....I mean that's just....' Gregory bit his lip and ducked his head to hide his smile, 'I know that being amazing is wired into the Holmes genes, I mean, you basically run Britain and you probably have relatives who've cured diseases and won wars and invented amazing things....but Sherlock....' Gregory took a deep breath, looking down at his untouched glass, and Mycroft opened his mouth to speak but Gregory cut him off, 'Sherlock did that. All by himself. That's...that's....'

Mycroft nodded, understanding what his husband was trying to say. Then he sighed and lifted his glass.

'One more for the flock to be corrupted.'

Gregory laughed, 'You don't mean that!'

'Let's just say,' Mycroft took a sip from his glass, 'That if I was still working I would already have a file on Snow Pea.'

'Now I KNOW that's not what they called her.'

'The people that matter assigned her that name.'

Gregory took a mouthful of his champagne and then looked across at his husband.

'Snow Pea?'

'Apparently.'

'Are our kids forming some secret underground army or something?'

Mycroft smiled, 'Oh, I hope so.'


	124. Chapter 124

They heard the voices before they heard the door bell. From their seat at the table Hamish and Beatrice pulled a face, and then Hamish shouted through to the kitchen where Bill was making lunch.

'Granny is here.'

Bill said something that he would ground Hamish for uttering, earning him a disapproving tut from Beatrice.

Violet swept into the flat just as Sherlock came out of the bathroom. She marched straight past Angus who was playing with his blocks on the floor, and leaned over the small wooden cradle beside Sherlock's black chair.

'So this is my new grandson.'

'She's a girl,' Hamish piped up.

'Don't be silly, he's wearing blue.'

Hamish looked over at Bill, who shrugged helplessly, 'Trust me, Violet, she's a girl.'

If he hadn't been looking at Violet at the time, Sherlock would never have believed the look of disappointment on his mothers face.

'If you were going to insist on having another child then the very least you could have done was provide a boy. Six grandchildren and not one among them to leave the estate to. Three girls and two duos.'

'Am I invisible?' Hamish demanded angrily.

'Oh, darling you don't count.'

It was only Sherlock's hand shooting out to halt Bill that stopped the midwife launching himself at his mother in law. However, Sherlock had been watching Hamish's reaction and felt a small surge of pride.

'You won't be saying that when I pick your care home,' the young boy shot back, and then he hopped off his seat and gathered his books, motioning for Beatrice to follow him.

'Where are you going?' Sherlock asked.

'Mrs Hudson's for lunch.' Hamish said.

'We're watching a film this afternoon.' Beatrice added.

Bill narrowed his eyes, 'What film?'

'Mary Poppins.'

'Alright. Back by two and only three biscuits each.'

Hamish pulled a face of disgust but then left the room with Beatrice, leaving the adults in awkward silence.

#

'Mary Poppins?' Hamish asked as they walked down the stairs, 'What are we really watching.'

'The Blair Witch Project.'

Hamish considered this, 'That's sort of like Mary Poppins...'

#

'Mummy-' Sherlock began, and stopped as his mother scooped the sleeping Vivienne up for closer scrutiny.

'Shh,' Violet waved a hand at him dismissively, which sent a surge of protectiveness through Bill. He wanted to snatch his daughter back from the woman holding her. Instead he calmed himself and leaned down to pass Angus a block that was just out of his reach, and was responded by a wide gummy grin.

'Love you,' he signed, and Angus responded by rubbing his thumb over the top of his fist, 'Potato.'

'You shouldn't encourage him to do that,' Violet said.

'Do what? Sign?' Bill straightened up.

'That's how he communicates,' Sherlock said quietly.

'There's nothing stopping him speaking,' Violet sniffed, 'He just needs to make a bit more effort.'

Bill opened his mouth to speak, but Sherlock shook his head. Now wasn't the time for that argument. Violet didn't notice their silent interaction, and instead made clicking sounds with her fingers.

'She's hungry. Give me her bottle and I'll feed her.'

'She's breastfed.'

Violet pursed her lips, 'Don't use words like that in mixed company.'

Bill was once again again opening his mouth to speak, but stopped at the look on Sherlock's face. It always amazing him how this awful woman could turn his expressive, sarcastic and outspoken husband into a meek child.

'We're just going to have some lunch, would you like to stay?' he offered instead.

'Oh, we-'

'I'm making eggs.'

Violet sniffed again, and declined to answer. Bill reached out and squeezed Sherlock's hand as he passed on his way back to the kitchen. One day he would lose his rag with Violet completely, but for now he would content himself by making sure her eggs were cold.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	125. Chapter 125

After Violet voiced her displeasure she was not seen at Baker Street for several weeks and made no attempt to contact her youngest son, although Sherlock and Bill heard through Mycroft that she had been to the Mayfair house several times.

Bill and Sherlock instead spent their time enjoying each other's company, in so much as they could with three (sometimes five) boisterous children. They took Vivienne to visist all of Sherlock's favourite places, smiled at Angus's marvel over every new word he understood, and Sherlock and Hamish destroyed not one, but two microwaves and a kettle and Bill ended up being the one to paint over the scorch marks on the kitchen ceiling.

It was a Tuesday. Greg and Mycroft had offered to take the boys along to a matinee show, which left Bill and Sherlock strolling through St James's park with Vivienne secure in her sling as Sherlock deduced passers by and Bill fed bits of his Danish to the pelicans.

'Sherlock? Sherlock Holmes!' The braying voice carried over the distant sounds of traffic and Sherlock tensed at Bill's side, but there wasn't time to react before the floppy haired man with the expensive suit and smug smile was upon them.

'I thought it was you,' he beamed as if pleased with himself, displaying canines that were slightly too long, 'Haven't seen you for ages! How are you keeping?'

'Sebastian.'

From Sherlock's tone Bill knew that there was a history here, but he also knew his husband well enough to know that if Sherlock needed his help here he would let him know.

The man, obviously an investment wanker....BANKER....Bill mentally corrected in case he accidentally said it aloud, noticed Vivienne who was still asleep against Sherlock's chest. He hadn't looked at Bill once.

'Oh Lord, you aren't trailing some poor woman's baby about with you to crime scenes now?' And the man guffawed.

Bill fought the urge to punch him in the face.

'Sorry,' he extended his hand, 'Seems Sherlock's forgotten his manners. Bill.'

The man looked slightly startled that this scruffy, too talk and smiling man was addressing him, but under Sherlock's stare he rallied and duely offered his hand.

'Sebastian. I went to university with Sherlock here.'

'Oh.' Bill tried to look interested, slightly worried by the way Sherlock seemed to have frozen, and more determined than ever that no matter what the history with this gobshite was he wasn't going to be allowed to make Sherlock feel bad.

'And,' the man waved his hands, smirking at Sherlock, clearly having witnessed his behaviour before, 'How do you know each other.'

'I'm his husband.'

The chinless wonder opposite them threw back his head and laughed, and for the briefest of seconds Sherlock's fingers brushed against Bill's, a silent thank you and a plea.

'Brilliant. Next thing you'll be telling me this baby is yours and not one he's...acquired.'

'No, she's definiately ours, I was there when she came out of him. Just like the others.'

'Others....?'

'Hmm,' Bill beamed, warming to his role, 'We have three. Our eldest has just turned eight.' he leaned in in mock conspiracy, and gave a tinkly laugh, 'I'll not tell you how we met, but if you've known Sherlock that long then you can guess it was memorable.'

To give the other man some credit he made a good effort of trying not to look surprised, but Bill could FEEL him weighing Bill up. In response Bill put his hand gently on the base of Sherlock's back and the effect was instantaneous. Sherlock turned to look at him and gave the briefest flicker of a smile. It was the approval Bill needed and he turned back to Sebastian.

'Sorry, so rude of me not to ask,' he said, 'Do you have children of your own?'

For the first time Sebastian The Bastard looked uncomfortable and he glanced away and then shrugged.

'No. Long hours, tough job. You know how it is?'

'Completely,' Bill nodded sympathetically, 'Sometimes I wonder how we managed to conceive at all with the running around this one does.' he flashed a proud smile at Sherlock, who was looking at him with a slight frown, and then turned back to Sebastian and lowered his voice to a stage whisper, 'Between me and you and the amount of sex we have I'm surprised we only have three.' 

The shocked look on Sebastian's face happened at the same time and Sherlock tensing beside him. Bill turned to smile softly at Vivienne and then flicked his gaze up to meet Sherlock's enquiring eyes.

'We should probably head on love,' he said to Sherlock, who just nodded, and then Bill turned back to Sebastian with the biggest fake apologetic smile he could muster, 'She'll want feeding soon and then I want a chance to ravish my gorgeous husband before the other little terrors get home. It was nice meeting you.'

'....and...you,' Sebastian said slowly as Sherlock and Bill nodded at him and carried on down the path.

Bill waited until they were out of sight and then he turned to Sherlock and both men laughed.

'Oh, tell me you didn't sleep with him!'

Sherlock pulled a face, 'Just once.'

'Once?'

'Twice?'

'Christ your taste in men.....!'

Bill laughed again and was stopped when Sherlock leaned in and very gently brushed the tip of his nose across Bill's jaw, silencing him.

When he pulled back, having touched no other part of him, Sherlock stared at Bill and then offered his hand. Bill smiled and took it and they walked on through the park, smiled at indulgently by grandmothers and pursued by pelicans.


	126. Chapter 126

Mycroft had been on a run when he got the urgent call from Mrs Hudson. He could hear shouting in the background and put on an extra burst of speed to get back to his driver.

When he arrived at 221 Mrs Hudson was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs.

'Oh Mycroft, I'm sorry to have called you. I thought the nice detective inspector could smooth things over, but she's just been-'

Mycroft didn't need to hear anymore. He could already tell who 'she' was and he took the stairs two at a time, throwing open the door to Sherlock's flat and then stopping at the scene in front of him.

Sherlock was standing by the window, clutching Vivienne to him, his pale eyes wide and fearful as if someone was going to snatch her away. The twins and Angus were in the play pen, or baby prison as certain family members still insisted on calling it, Cabbage was thoughtfully sucking on the ear of her stuffed rabbit as she silently observed proceedings while the boys were studiously ignoring them and more concerned with beating a rubber dinosaur with a wooden building block. Bill had put himself between his husband and Violet who was on her feet pointing at Bill and shouting even as Gregory tried to talk calmly over them, his hands held up for calm. Siger was hovering nervously behind his wife as if not sure what was happening or what he could do about it. And at the table in the corner....Richard Murray was calmly playing Scrabble with Hamish and Beatrice as if nothing else was happening in the room.

He took all of this in in a split second, his eyes meeting Sherlock's briefly.

'What's this?'

Violet ignored him and kept on speaking to Sherlock.

'...if you think that we will be supporting you when all of this falls apart then-'

'Hang on, Violet,' Gregory said softly, 'Nothing is falling apart.'

'Mummy?' Mycroft asked again.

'No Hamish, there's only one K in wanker....'

'Gobnait said that Sebastian laughed, LAUGHED, when you told him you were married to this man!' Violet waved her hand towards Bill, but kept her eyes firmly fixed on her youngest son, 'She said it right there in the middle of bridge club. It was humiliating. You could do so much better than this, better than him, better than this flat...you had so much potential and you threw it all away over and over,' Violet frowned, 'You could have done anything and instead you live in this...dump with your nurse pushing out one child after another with no regard as to how you will cope when it's all over and-'

And that was the moment Mycroft saw his brother finally snap. There was a split second when everything changed, and Mycroft wasn't the only one to feel it. Bill started to turn towards Sherlock, eyes wide, already sensing what was going to happen and Mycroft, for the first time, realised how well the midwife understood Sherlock and he knew, suddenly and completely, that Sherlock was, and always would be safe with that man.

Sherlock stepped forward.

'How many points do I get for 'bumming'?'

'Fourteen.'

'Is that what you said to Mycroft? That he could find a better partner? A better family? After all he married a policeman and not lord. But then you've always told Mycroft that he needs to be better, to try harder, to take the responsibility and yet you have never once acknowledge all that he does do.'

'Sherlock-' Mycroft began, but Sherlock ignored him.

'And I think we can all stop pretending that your disdain for his efforts to please you have anything at all to do with what he does. It's who he is that you hate. Because there's a reason there is such a large age gap between us, isn't there? Mycroft's father wasn't interested and it was all brushed off as a minor indiscretion. Father has pretended for fifty years that he didn't know, but he did. We all did. Sherrinford wasn't planned, you didn't want him, didn't care enough to stay sober around him. Dropped, thrown.....either way he was shipped off to a home as soon as he was released from hospital. Not your responsibility. You had your precious Mycroft, your first born with the man you loved. But when he made it clear that he didn't want you, you started to blame Mycroft for it, and by the time I came along, presumably as a product of obligation rather than desire, he was already being told what a disappointment he was. And I even told him that, repeatedly, for years. Because I didn't know any better. I grew up thinking he was the reason everything was shit and he wasn't! HE WASN'T!'

Sherlock took another step forward, and gently stroked the back of Vivienne's head with his thumb as he moved.

'I always thought he was a rubbish big brother. But he wasn't. He isn't. Don't get me wrong,' he added quickly, 'He's a pain in the arse and most of the time I wish he would just piss off, but when I was in hospital he was the one who came to visit, and when Eurus burned the house down he was the one to carry me out. HE carried me out. You didn't even look back. You think I don't remember that, but I do.

You have had four chances to raise your children, four chances to have a family and you, and only you, have decided that none of those are enough. You don't want us, you want a perfect family that you can show off in the right circles. You want to be respectable again. But how could you do that with one illegitimate son, one disabled one, one addict and one psychopath?'

'Your sister is not a psychopath!'

'She killed my only friend when she was five just before she burned the house down, I think that qualifies as psychopathic behaviour, don't you?'

Sherlock circled his mother now, almost predatory.

'We did everything to win your affection. But only I was smart enough to realise that it was a lost cause. Even now, even after a liftetime of being told he's not good enough, that he should try harder, Mycroft is still pathetically pawing for your attention, and ironically the only parent who gives him that is Father, and he's nothing to do with Mycroft. So all this nonsense about having a 'proper' male to inherit, what is that about? Is it to inherit Mycroft's title? Or the house? Because I can assure you that none of us need the money.'

'Which is why your...boyfriend goes to work?'

'My husband works because he loves his job, he is good at it and he spends his days brining new life into the world. He delivered every one of your grandchildren.'

'He can't be that good if he wasn't able to deliver one that isn't defective.'

In the silence that followed there was a tapping of heels across the floor.

'Get out of my house, dearie, before I punch you in the throat.'

Mrs Hudson tilted her head to the side but never loosened her vice like grip on Violet's arm. With one final draw of breath Violet turned, her scarves fanning out behind her, and then she was being marched down the stairs.

The silence left seemed to echo loudly until Siger coughed.

'I always knew,' he said, his voice rough, his gaze on the rug until slowly, slowly he lifted it to look at Mycroft, 'It didn't matter to me. I...I didn't know it mattered to her.' he ducked his head again almost as if embarrassed, 'Can....can I still visit the children?'

Mycroft glanced at Sherlock, but it was Gregory who answered.

'Of course you can.'

In the background Beatrice asked Dick, 'Is dongle a real word?'


	127. Chapter 127

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the penultimate chapter. Originally I was going to post the last two as one big chapter, but it's already breaking my heart to know that this is it, the end is literally nigh.
> 
> As always you guys have been amazing. Your support and love and encouragement has kept me going through some pretty dark places, your emails and messages have made so much difference, especially when I was stuck in hospital in isolation - knowing that you guys where there and reading and getting enjoyment out of what I was trying to do kept me sane. 
> 
> So, to all my regular readers and all the new faces, thank you. I hope that when this story is over that I can make you happy with the next one.
> 
> I love every one of you.
> 
> Claire xx

Bill put the teabags into the teapot and leaned back against the counter to wait for the kettle. After a few seconds he heard a movement behind him and Greg opened the fridge to retrieve the milk.

'They all knew,' Greg said, setting the milk on the tray, 'I mean, I know we all have those moments where we convince ourselves that our families aren't actually related to us, but when you're ten and you're a Holmes....I think it was a petty thing at first, you know...'You're not my real brother, they bought you at Tesco' sort of thing, but then it was true. Sherlock and Sherrinford are both Siger's. No idea about Eurus.'

'Mycroft?'

Greg gave a small laugh, 'His dad was some posh bloke called Ashby who was at university with Violet. I found out when he died and we started getting post addressed to The Earl of Strean.'

Bill turned to looked at Greg, 'Mycroft is an earl?'

'Yep,' Greg fished a custard cream out of the packet.

Bill smirked, 'So does that make you Lady Holmes?'

'No. It makes me Count Strean.'

Bill snorted, 'Seriously?'

Beside him Greg was laughing, but he nodded, 'I didn't do too badly for a middle aged copper with no O levels.'

The kettle switched itself off and Bill moved to fill the teapot.

'I don't think either of us did badly. I mean, I spend all my time shouting about the mess and trying to find bail money and updating the spreadsheet of places we are now banned from-'

'You wouldn't change a second of it though, would you?'

Bill bit his lip and looked down at the tray as he walked.

'Not one.'

#

Everyone else had gone home hours ago. Hamish was staying over with Greg and Mycroft on the insistance that he and Beatrice had important issues to talk about.

'It's important for our emotional wellbeing and development,' Beatrice had blinked up at them through from behind her glasses.

'And Ingeberg said she will take us to the park tomorrow so if we are up early enough we can....'

'Can what?'

'....enjoy the scenery?' 

And now it was late. Angus and Vivienne were fast asleep, the door was locked, the fire was banked and the lights were low, the lamp beside him illuminating the pages of the book Bill was reading.

A dark shadow crossed the room silently and lowered itself onto the sofa beside the midwife, pulling tight against him.

'What are you reading?' Sherlock asked, tucking his bare feet underneath him.

Bill flicked the book over to show Sherlock the cover, 'Murder, espionage and a submarine lost off the coast of Greenland.'

'Sounds awful.'

'It is.' he pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head and then turned the page and they read together in silence.


	128. Chapter 128

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so this is it. the end. thank you, every single one of you, for all of your love and support over the last year, you have kept me going though some awful times - break ups, illness, ICU, you guys have been there and you are amazing. The whole community here is amazing, whether you are a writer or a reader you are loved and supported and encouraged. In all the time I have been here I have never experienced any negativity or bitchiness, everyone is here because they want to be here and it's honestly the most open and welcoming community i've ever been part of,. I love you guys. I really do. 
> 
> And so this is the end of over a year of writing this. I hope it lives up to expectations.
> 
> And, incidentally, I was woken at 4am by that same fucking helicopter!!!!! which forced me to finish typing up and post this chapter.
> 
> So, here is to you all, to our boys, to police helicopters.
> 
> Claire xx

Time passed.

Siger came to visit, cautiously at first, always unsure, until Mrs Hudson, Mrs Turner, Nana Blisset and the rather formidable former teacher Mrs Ripley inducted him into their poker league, of which Nana Blisset was currently wiping the floor, and Rudy was down seven grand and had lost two pairs of Weitzman heels to Ingeberg, a crocodile Birkin to Anthea and a quarter of his banking stocks to Hamish and Beatrice.  
Violet never came back to Baker Street, although she occasionally would make pre arranged visits to Mycroft's Mayfair home to see her grandchildren. She never asked after Sherlock or Bill.  
With a gentle push from Bill, Sherlock asked Sherrinford to be Vivienne's godfather, and the smile as he was handed the tiny baby to hold was something that neither Bill nor Sherlock would ever forget.  
And so there they were.  
'It's been an interesting decade,' Mycroft observed as he sipped his tea while Sherlock maneuvered the five month old Vivienne to a more comfortable position.  
'Quite.'  
'I...' Mycroft looked down at his cup, 'I never expected Gregory....or Bill.'  
Sherlock said nothing, keeping his eyes focused on his feeding daughter.  
'Bill is good for you,' Mycroft said slowly, 'And Gregory is...' he broke off and closed his eyes, 'We have been very lucky.'  
'Luck is a construct of the-'  
'Oh do shut up, Sherlock!' Mycroft opened his eyes and glared at his brother, then he looked down at his niece, 'She's beautiful.'  
'The validation of physical attributes is a....' Sherlock paused, and then quirked a smile, 'She is very beautiful.'  
'I never thought we would be the sort of people to talk about our children,' Mycroft confessed, 'In truth I never thought I would have any children. But then I met Gregory. And you met Bill. And now....now I wear jumpers!'  
Sherlock snorted, but Mycroft sobered.  
'This wasn't supposed to be our life,' he said, 'We were supposed to either marry some well bred woman of means and of mummy's choosing or spend our lives alone as we pursued brilliance. A midwife and a policeman...it's not hard to see why Mummy is so upset. It doesn't really stand up to her friends marrying their children off to barons and billionaires.'  
'I would rather have stimulating conversation than social status.'  
'Yessss, and that accounts for much of your previous indiscretions.'  
'That was a previous life, Mycroft,' Sherlock said sharply.  
Mycroft tilted his head, 'Apologies.'  
Then a pause and a smile and Mycroft nodded again.  
'Congratulations, brother mine.'  
Sherlock paled slightly, but his eyes narrowed and he tilted his chin ready for the confrontation.  
A moment. A long moment in which the brothers stared at each other and then...  
'Thank you.'  
'Have you told Bill?'  
'Not yet. Tonight.'  
Mycroft nodded again, and his smile was genuine.  
'We've come a long way from two lonely boys with no friends and no ability to interact.'  
Sherlock stroked a thumb across Vivienne's head as she nursed.  
'I have no wish to return there.'  
'Does...do you...do you ever wonder what we could have been?'  
And like a lance to the heart Sherlock stilled. He closed his eyes and let his mind rush through his whole life, all the mistakes, the issues, the bad choices, the people, and then straight through to the what ifs....he bit his lip and looked up to meet Mycroft's gaze and saw, for the first time in his life, an understanding and support there.  
'I wouldn't be here,' he said quietly, softly, honestly.  
'Nor I,' Mycroft responded,  
The moment dragged on, each man lost in his own thoughts until...  
'Sherlock.....?'  
'Hmm?'  
'Is it me or has it gone very quiet upstairs?'  
'I-'  
As Mycroft started to rise from his chair there was an exclamation of 'Oh shit!' from above, followed by running footsteps towards the stairs. Mycroft had barely gotten to his feet before the smoke alarm sounded.


	129. Chapter 129

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist. Consider it my Christmas present to you all.
> 
> C

THREE YEARS LATER.....

'Try coffee,' Molly suggested as she adjusted her hairband yet again.

'Milk?' Greg offered.

'Avocado,' Hamish supplied, and then, in response to Beatrice's eye roll, 'Well it makes me shit!'

'Language!' Bill came through from the kitchen, propping two year old Manus up on his hip.

'Cheese?' Angus signed hopefully and was rewarded by a clap from Vivienne.

'Is Sherlock going to be long? I need to use the bathroom.' Beatrice looked worried, causing Mrs Hudson to fish her own keys out of her handbag.

'Use mine dear.'

'What is taking so long?' Mycroft appeared at the top of the stairs and frowned as Beatrice ran past him.

'Sherlock is in the bathroom.'

'Still?'

'Yup. It won't come out.'

Mycroft closed his eyes at Hamish's pronouncement, 'And we are going to be late as a result of my brother's inability to defecate?'

Mrs Hudson tutted, but she turned to Hamish, 'Go down to my flat and when Beatrice is finished in the bathroom get the blue box from the cabinet and bring it up here. They should clean him out.'

Hamish nodded and thundered down the stairs, followed by Mrs Hudson's shout of 'And stay away from my soothers!'

Heavier footsteps on the stairs and then Richard Murray appeared in the doorway, and was immediately knocked back by the twins and Angus, with squeals of 'Granda Dick!', even from Angus, who's speech was only just keeping up with his lipreading. Even so, he still signed everything when he spoke, as did all everyone else who was part of their wide and eclectic family, even Siger had made an effort to learn enough words that he could haltingly keep up with conversation with his grandson. But it was Richard who seemed to get the most pleasure of it. After several attempts to sign his grandfather;s name, the closest Angus had initially managed had been 'Penis' which, while amusing, was not an option Bill was willing to entertain. And so Hamish and Beatrice took it upon themselves to come up with an alternative that was as close to 'Dick' as possible. And so Richard Murray, retired geography teacher, respected widower, part time church organist and reigning Baker Street Hungry Hungry Hippos champion for three Christmases running, had become known as 'Shaft'.

'Bill it's started!' Sherlock called from the bathroom and Mycroft rolled his eyes as Bill breathed a sigh of relief

'Is he still in there?' Richard asked.

Bill nodded and his father looked at the clock and then at the other adults in the room.

'Perhaps we should take the vegetable army on ahead and you can catch up?' he suggested.

'You're a lifesaver!' Bill kissed the top of Manus's head and handed him over.

As the other filed out of the flat, Sherlock's voice came again.

'It won't stop! Bill, it won't stop coming out!'

#

Things had moved at a hectic pace since Vivienne had arrived on the kitchen floor. First there had been Manus just over a year later, and then, to absolutely no one's surprise, Allegra the following year. The conversion of the flat was well underway and they had almost enough rooms, even if Sherlock had done nothing but complain about the disruption for the last three years.

'Well, you're the one who wanted five kids,' Bill pointed out.

'I said 'more' I didn't specify a number.'

Violet had started to mend bridges with her sons, and had even come to Baker Street with Siger once, but she refused to stay for tea and wouldn't hold Allegra. But, Bill reasoned, it was a start, and regardless of his own feelings towards the woman, he knew Sherlock cared, even if he didn't show it.

The biggest change had been, without a doubt, Harry Watson.

She'd arrived at the door of the flat one afternoon without warning, and Sherlock had paled when he saw her.

'Sherlock,' she said softly.

Sherlock had glanced at Bill and then back at the strange woman.

'Aren't you going to invite me in?'

They never heard what Sherlock's reply would be, because the downstairs door slammed and two sets of running feet came up the stairs and crashed into the flat. Beatrice and Hamish passed by in a flurry of notepaper and school scarves and then the door to the upstairs bedrooms was slammed shut and there was silence in the flat again.

Sherlock hadn't moved a muscle, his eyes focused somewhere in the middle distance. Harry Watson was staring at the closed door, her mouth slightly open and her face drained of colour.

'Oh my god...' she breathed, 'He's....?' and she turned to look at Sherlock, who didn't say anything.

Bill stepped forward, 'Perhaps you should come in.'

It would have been nice to have been able to say that Harry had become a blessing in their lives, but in truth she had had little to do with them. She'd met Hamish, at his request, and only after Sherlock had confirmed her sobriety.

'Five years now,' Harry had said with a nod.

She'd moved to Scotland to live nearer the last of her family and by all accounts seemed to be doing much better than the Harriet that Sherlock had known.

'He's so like John,' she'd said quietly, speaking about Hamish.

'He's nothing like John,' Sherlock snapped, and Bill had to force himself not to put a restraining hand on Sherlock's arm.

Harry Watson, however, didn't flinch, she just watched Sherlock carefully for a long moment, and then gave a sad smile.

'Good.'

And suddenly Harriet's daemons made a little more sense.

#

Sherlock came out of the bathroom looking pale and feeling sorry for himself. Bill immediately wrapped his arms around his husband.

'Feel better now?'

Sherlock pulled back and looked as if he was going to say something sarcastic, but instead he just nodded. Bill smiled and kissed the detective's forehead.

'Ready to go?' he asked as he tucked Allegra into her car seat.

'I fail to see why we need to witness the atrocity and affront to human sensibility that is-'

'Sherlock, it's a fucking nativity play.'

'Exactly!' Sherlock replied darkly.

'Oh, don't be like that. Can't you just enjoy the fact that they are allowing Hamish and Bea to take part again? Especially after last time.'

This at least drew a small smile from Sherlock.

'Okay, got everything?' Bill asked, lifting the car seat with the sleeping baby inside, 'Not gonna shit yourself on the way?'

'Hard to tell.'

'That's my boy,' Bill laughed and they headed down the stairs together.

#

'Well,' Rudy sipped his wine as everyone helped themselves from the large platters of food being passed down the table, 'That was certainly not how I remember the Nativity.'

There was a general air of self satisfaction from the younger people at the table, accompanied by a huff of displeasure from Violet that everyone else ignored.

'Well I thought it was wonderful,' Molly said.

'Yeah,' Greg agreed, 'Who would have thought that Baby Jesus was so...aerodynamic?'

'Don't you think that's enough food?' Violet said suddenly, and Molly blushed, thinking Violet was addressing her, but Violet was glaring at her youngest son who was just about to start eating.

And suddenly it was ten years ago and Sherlock was terrified of eating, conscious of all the eyes watching him. But at the same time he was hungry, so hungry and-

'No, not even close,' Bill said, dishing another slice of meat and helping of potatoes onto Sherlock's plate, 'He needs to eat much more than normal while he's breastfeeding, as you know, because we've had this conversation before.'

'If he used formula like I told him to then he wouldn't have to gorge so and he would be better able to control his weight-'

'Oh, do shut up Violet.' Rudy cut across her.

'Please, Mummy,' Mycroft glanced along the length of the table and there was silence for a moment and then Violet nodded.

'Apologies, Sherlock.'

Sherlock didn't respond, but he did press his legs a little closer against Bill's.

Dinner rumbled on. Sherlock and Bill exchanged soft looks when no one else was looking. The twins had to be separated after almost coming to blows, and Violet drank more wine and talked at poor Molly about how irresponsible it was to have five children, ignoring the fact that she herself had four.

'No one needs to have five children,' she said, gesticulating with her wine glass.

Bill leaned in close to Sherlock and pressed a kiss to his shoulder, glancing down at Sherlock's plate, pleased to see he'd eaten almost everything on it. Sherlock's general diet had been a daily battle for ten years, but so far Bill seemed to be winning.

'Shall we tell her that we don't need six either?' Bill whispered.

'Are you trying to give my mother a stroke?'

'I'd rather stroke you.'

'Which is why we ended up with so many children.'

'Six isn't that many.'

'We have five!' Sherlock hissed quietly, a warning in his voice that Bill heeded.

'So far,' Bill shot back and winked, reaching out and stealing a carrot from Sherlock's plate as he did so.

As Sherlock turned with the intention of a scathing reply to his husband, he instead caught Mycroft's eye and the brother's exchanged a short nod, and then Sherlock did something he would have struggled with only a few years before, he smiled at his brother.

Christmas time had never been a particularly pleasant experience for Sherlock. As a boy it had either been lonely in the cold house in Sussex, or, on several occassions, spent at school with the handful of other boys who's parents didn't set much store in the holidays. As an adult Christmas had ceased to be a thing at all, just another day, and on those rare occassions when he had tried to join in and celebrate in any way, it had all gone wrong. First The Woman, and then Magnussen.

But now there was food, and friends, and Bill, and Hamish drop kicking the baby Jesus the whole length of the hall while Angus threw up on a shepherd and Dick filmed the whole thing on his phone. There was food, and wine and bickering and laughing and a dozen other things he had never had before.

Including five children he had never anticipated. 

Although, if the look in Bill's eyes was anything to go by when he glanced at Sherlock, by this time next year it might well be six.

Sherlock smiled.


End file.
